


Drag Me Under

by woncarnation



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Canon-Typical Violence, Drift Compatibility, Growth and Healing, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Minor Character Death, Implied/Referenced Sex, Jeon Wonwoo is Lost, M/M, Slow Burn, but not with the people around him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:27:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28526199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woncarnation/pseuds/woncarnation
Summary: It has never been the drift that connects both of them. Even in the worst days of the academy, and even in the days they're reunited in the shatterdome, counting days until the apocalypse greets them at their door—Wonwoo believes in this truth.Wonwoo and Seungcheol, told through hope, promises, lies and half-truths, and a whole entourage of Kaijus waiting at their doorstep.
Relationships: Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups/Jeon Wonwoo
Comments: 15
Kudos: 55
Collections: Seventeen Rare Pair Fest: 2 Rare 2 Pair





	Drag Me Under

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [SVTRarePairFest2](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SVTRarePairFest2) collection. 



> **Prompt:** Wonwoo & Seungcheol Pacific Rim Au, Drift partners or better yet, they were meant to be drift partners and something happened (injury, not drift compatible) now one of them is a pilot and the other runs the drift from the shatterdome  
>    
> *Navigating changes in relationships  
>   
> A few notes:  
> ▸ This is set in the pacific rim universe but no deep knowledge of the franchise is required. Just that humanity is fighting giant monsters (Kaiju) with giant mechs (Jaeger), which are piloted by two pilots with their mind connected through something called the ‘drift’. Before that though, they need to get through the academy for 24 weeks for training. That’s about all you need to know!  
>   
> ▸ For those who are familiar with the universe, I've adjusted some elements of the canon to fit this story better, mainly that the UN doesn't sunset the Jaeger Program  
>   
> ▸ **Expanded tags and warnings** : minor character death is tagged but it's just mentioned & referenced in passing, nothing graphic. The canon-typical violence tag sums it up but there will be fight scenes and injuries. As the tags imply, there will be healing from emotional scars & fears. If there are any I miss that warrants its own tag, please let me know!  
>   
> ▸ Most conversations are done in Korean except for the few that happens in English in the LOCCENT (Local Command Center), though it doesn't impact the story in any significant way  
>   
> ▸ Depicted locations might not be entirely accurate so please excuse the inaccuracies if there are any  
>   
>  —  
>   
> Since navigating changes in relationships is emphasised, I took the liberty of making this Wonwoo's journey with himself and the people around him. I hope you enjoy his journey and growth as much as I enjoyed exploring this. I do hope this fic does the prompt, in the very least, a little bit of justice, dearest anon. Please enjoy!  
>   
> 

**January 21st 2021.**

The drone of the helicopter blades finally died down with a shudder of the vehicle, signalling their landing after hours of turbulent flight. Wonwoo relishes the brief moment of rest for his beaten eardrums. For he knows it won’t last long—nothing ever does.

“We’ve arrived, recruits!” Bellows a voice from the cockpit, heavy footsteps bounding in the metal frame followed by a hardened face. “Grab your stuff and get your selves off of this helicopter, stat. The Pan Pacific Defense Course has no time for slackers.”

Without further instruction, the dozens of recruits nestled in the hull of the helicopter moves, scrambles on their feet to form a line on the landing runway. Wonwoo follows despite his trembling hands, feet carrying him to meet the harsh, cold winds of Kodiak Island, shivers greeting him in undulating waves. Huddling closer to his jacket proves to be useless. Stealing a glance to his left, Wonwoo spots the abrupt end of the runway, concrete road cutting off into a steep cliff overlooking the ocean. Tumultuous waves hiding secrets Wonwoo doesn’t want to discover.

That explains the wind, he muses. He hates the cold. 

Both battling the winds and his shivers nearly overwhelms him. Wonwoo’s sure someone’s shouting, but he doesn’t hear them—can’t hear them with how preoccupied his senses are. But when the crowd starts walking, he does as well, relying on the sight of steady steps from the feet in front of him. He only needs to follow everyone. He’ll be fine.

A single tap on his shoulder makes him realise he’d been looking down, the electricity from the touch jolting him into acute awareness. He should start unlearning the habit, now that he’s in a place where stance and posture and discipline are a big part of scrutinisation. No Jaeger pilot slouches, as far as he knew.

“Are you okay?” It’s the person in front of him, body twisted to face him whilst moving forward, and Wonwoo reels at the familiar sound of his mother tongue.

“Yes,” he answers, voice heightened with surprise. “Yes. I was just surprised at the cold.”

The slight purse on the man’s lips tells Wonwoo he’s not entirely convinced. But it’s gone before long, replaced by a firm nod, as though acknowledging the coldness along with Wonwoo.

“We’re moving to the auditorium for the opening address. It should be warmer inside, so hang in there all right?”

Some absurd sliver of warmth travels the span of his cheeks, and Wonwoo coughs into his collar. “Thank you.”

It’s both for the words of encouragement and the information. Wonwoo didn’t show a sign of how the temperature has caused him to miss the announcement—at least, he thinks he didn’t—yet the person in front of him caught it, anyway.

They stopped just shy of the auditorium entrance where quite a dense line has formed. The steeliness of everyone around him sets a stirring in Wonwoo’s stomach. He didn’t come here to play hero, not in the slightest, but the sight of almost everyone paired up and having their game faces on does nothing to calm his nerves.

Hours of research and stories from his brother has Wonwoo aware of how pre-acquainted pairs have a higher chance of making the cut in the academy. Yet Wonwoo’s here alone, and the closest he has to an acquaintance is nowhere in sight, his entry to the hall escaping Wonwoo’s notice.

A clearing of a throat. “Identification?”

“Ah, sorry.” Wonwoo fumbles with his ID, ignoring the slight waver in his English. “Wonwoo Jeon.”

The officer behind the desk lowers her head, scanning the screen in front of her before handing his ID back. Wonwoo murmurs a small thanks, fearing if he raised his voice the whole hall would hear his hesitance in the foreign language.

“Please join everyone in the auditorium.”

It isn’t like Wonwoo has anywhere else, nor anyone else, to go to, so he nods and lets himself through the draped doors. Rows and rows of fresh recruits are present, murmurs of excitement and apprehension bouncing between the metal walls of the room. A podium stands at the very front, the crest of the PPDC looming proudly behind the empty stage.

Wonwoo feels his breath hitch at how very real all of this feels. His feet carried him to an empty spot at the back in no time. An unknown face amongst unknown faces. 

Another tap on his shoulder, and Wonwoo almost throws his green duffle bag at the second jolt he’s felt that day.

“Whoa.” The guy chuckles, hands going up in surrender. “Easy there, sorry for startling you.”

The language soars inside Wonwoo once more, and he finds himself face to face with the Nice Guy. In quick succession, embarrassment replaces his unease, prompting Wonwoo to angle himself in a bow.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m really sorry,” Wonwoo apologises.

“There’s nothing wrong with you. It’s completely fine, I kind of understand you,” Nice Guy says, “different country, a foreign language, a sea of people you don’t know. Being alone. All the reason to be wary.”

Wonwoo doesn’t quite know how to respond to that, mumbles a noise of approval instead of a proper answer. The chatter in the room drowns out his voice. Drowns out his embarrassment, too, so Wonwoo pays no mind to his lack of engagement in the conversation.

Nice Guy smiles, and Wonwoo wonders what he could possibly think of him. Someone who seems so out of place, perhaps, a faint nobody amidst beacons of confidence. Or something equally pathetic; an image piteous enough for him to reach out.

“I’m Seungcheol, by the way.”

“Wonwoo,” he offers back. 

“I think we should just stick together, seeing how everyone came here with someone else.” Seungcheol glances at Wonwoo, pauses for a second before tilting his head. “If that’s okay with you.”

Wonwoo’s mind settles with a name to call, a word he can anchor down to familiarity in a sea that offers none. It’s the first clam he’s felt since his flight from Seoul. The offer stands to uphold the feeling, and Wonwoo nods without any second thought, relieved.

“That sounds like a good idea,” Wonwoo says, lips tugged upwards.

A blear of a mic being turned on squashes their banter into a pause. Headmaster Kang, as it turns out, is a woman of few words. There’s been rumours of how she’s been churning out the best rangers; brave and selfless; skills matched only by their wits; sense of duty taut as an arrow. And Wonwoo’s beginning to see why. Her gaze commands the whole room before the beginning of her speech, and when she does start, even the thousands of tons of a Kaiju would yield to her brevity.

She instills a little something in everybody. Assures you that what you’ll be doing in the academy is consequential to the future. That if you do, by some miraculous force of nature, make it until the end, you’ll only be the best options humanity has.

The opening address starts with stunted silence and awed gazes, and ends with warnings drilled into Wonwoo’s head. Red blares through the corners of his little bubble, cascading down in threatening waves, and Wonwoo’s afraid it’ll give out on him before he even makes it out of this room.

“Your achievements in the academy will determine whether you join the select group of humankind’s defenders we all call Rangers. Good luck, cadets.”

“I can already tell we have a lot ahead of us.” Seungcheol mock-whistled, hands crossing across his chest. It must be something on Wonwoo’s face that causes the sudden morph in Seungcheol’s expression. “Are you okay?”

It’s the same exact question thrown at him for the second time, from the same exact person, nonetheless. And this time, Wonwoo isn’t confident in the ‘yes’ he replies with. 

Six months, he reminds himself. Twenty-four weeks of living hell on Earth and Wonwoo will graduate, will have a position in which he’ll be able to meet the ends of his promises. Whether it be with a jab to a Kaiju’s face or an uppercut to its abdomen—he doesn’t know yet.

He prefers not to think about it. 

Wonwoo fiddles with the metal piece in his pocket, motion familiar enough for him to find the engravings without looking. It sits cold and heavy in his hand. Every single character, jutting out against the plate, pricks at the skin of his thumb, but Wonwoo allows it to. It’s an anchor to a pier Wonwoo has no business being in, yet he stays, anyway.

When his name along with Seungcheol’s get called, he lets go of the tags, leaves them to sear their way down his chest even without direct contact.

  
  


☵

  
  


**February 28th 2021.**

The easiest part of the first few weeks was befriending Seungcheol, which comes as a surprise to Wonwoo, all things considered. Making acquaintances let alone friends has never been his forte. There’s something far more intricate in relationships that Wonwoo didn’t find in numbers and calculations, almost delicate.

They settle soon enough, falls into a routine not long after. A shared combat training class, and separate everything else, but they find time, in between meal breaks and longer in their tutoring sessions, created due to Seungcheol’s insistence.

It’s Sunday, and Seungcheol should be turning up in his room in a couple of minutes. 

Wonwoo pauses Schubert’s Symphony No.9 on the fifth knock of his door. The digital clock on his desk shows the exact amount of minutes of which Seungcheol is early for their tutoring session. It’s ten minutes before 7 p.m. and Wonwoo blinks. 

“Come in,” he says when he shouldn’t.

It usually takes three; three knocks to his door before Seungcheol rambles on three excuses of why he’s more than three minutes late. There aren’t any of those: less than three minutes, less than three knocks on his door.

And true to his hunch, a rather unfamiliar face greets him beyond the slight opening of his door. Hesitance must’ve stopped the cadet from fully entering his room, though he doesn’t show it in the slightest, smile more confident than it is nervous.

“Hi,” says the cadet, body inclining in a quick bow, “Seungcheol-hyung says you can help me with, well, all the engineering stuff.”

“Engineering stuff?” Wonwoo repeats, thoroughly unimpressed.

Nodding, he continues. “I’m Seungkwan. We share a class on Battle Tactics, though we never actually talked, so it’s okay if you don’t remember me.”

“I don’t, I’m sorry. And I think you’re mistaken, I don’t teach—“

“Oh come on, Wonwoo, don’t be like that,” chimes in a voice from behind Seungkwan, the grin on his lips causing the teasing lilt. Seungcheol slings an arm around Seungkwan without care, fresh droplets of water hanging at the tips of his hair, threatening to fall to the floor with even the slightest rustle of air. “Us singles are already at a disadvantage, the least we can do is help each other make the first cut.”

A slight flick of Wonwoo’s head prompts Seungcheol to raise his hands, admitting his betrayal to their promise at the start of their private lectures. But Choi Seungcheol, face relaxed and guilt-free, has never done a thing without purpose, nor without careful consideration of all parties involved.

“It’s nothing harmful.”

Without a rebuttal up his sleeves, Wonwoo swallows. He chances a glance at Seungkwan to meet the same smile that has stayed since the moment Wonwoo’s door opened, unabated by Wonwoo’s unfinished refusal. Ignoring the hopeful twinkle in Seungkwan’s eyes would just paint Wonwoo a different breed of evil.

“Right, sorry.” Backing up a few steps, Wonwoo lets both of them in, allowing another in his curated sphere. “I’ll just tidy up a bit and we can start.”

It’s Seungcheol that trudges in first, room might just as well be as familiar as his own, before Seungkwan follows, a tad more timid as first times did to anybody. But it didn’t last long, Seungkwan finding a spot against the wall to settle himself in just a few seconds after Seungcheol throws himself on Wonwoo’s bed.

Ignoring the prod at the edge of his consciousness—one he always get when one invades his space—Wonwoo turns off his tablet, cleans up his disarray of books before he stops. Heart stuck in his throat. There’s nothing hanging off of his table lamp. His hands scramble before his mind does, overturning papers and the books he’s just tidied a minute ago with haste. Not a single trace of metal glints from his table.

As the inevitable trickle of panic starts to heat the tips of his ears, a single voice resounds in the room, calling out his name. Wonwoo all but snaps in Seungcheol’s direction.

His gaze unwavering, Seungcheol tosses something he has balled in his fists and Wonwoo catches it without missing a beat.

Wonwoo holds it close, the feeling of rubber and metal in his hands causing the subsiding of his racing heart. It’s here, he repeats, it’s here with him.

“It was underneath your pillow,” Seungcheol provides at Wonwoo’s silence. No questions, despite Wonwoo knowing that he has plenty.

Wonwoo allows a sigh from his lips, “Thank you.”

It’s the burn of Seungkwan’s gaze, even more oblivious than Seungcheol, at the back of his neck that pushes Wonwoo to collect himself. Tags now in his pocket, Wonwoo turns to Seungkwan, smiles at the deliberate indifference on his face. 

“Which parts do you struggle with Seungkwan?”

“Oh!” He chirps, “There are a couple of things from the last class that I’m confused with, but I’m particularly stuck on hydraulic design calculations. Why do we even mostly use hydraulics, anyway? Isn’t it hard to apply hydraulics for non-linear motions?”

Wonwoo blinks, settles back down on his chair.

“You’re asking the wrong questions, Seungkwan. The actual question is why do we even need to learn all of this,” Seungcheol cuts in, much to Wonwoo’s dismay.

It’s a different kind of sigh that escapes his lips, now. “It’s only some basic engineering. Don’t you at least want to know how the thing you will be piloting works?”

A shrug and Seungcheol returns to lying down on Wonwoo’s bed. “That’s an easy thing for _you_ to say. And no, I don’t really care about that actually.”

“If you don’t actually care you wouldn’t have asked me to tutor you.”

 _You know how much I’d rather be alone_. 

With only Seungcheol’s slightly pursed lips as an answer, Wonwoo shakes his head, ignoring the usual static of electricity between them. It’s more subdued than when they first met. 

“And Seungkwan, hydraulic motors allow more workload in a more compact system, it handles more torque per square meter than electric motors do. And God knows how much torque we need for a two-thousand-ton machine to move.”

After a while of nothing but slightly parted lips, Seungkwan nods, head dipping down twice. “Right. I haven’t read enough about it, then, thank you.”

It’s the same exact feeling from when Wonwoo went on an accidental ramble in his university workshop, the awed glance from Hansol not at all dousing the rising embarrassment when he finished, only then realising how much words he’d spoken in the span of a couple minutes. 

Seungkwan’s reaction is nearly analogous to Hansol’s, raised eyebrows and all, a jovial breeze in an otherwise parched day. Wonwoo wonders if they’re the same age. Realises how young Hansol was when the hurricane hit.

The embarrassment fades soon enough, something far more poignant prancing around his chest, snuffs out the heat with a tide of cold waters. He sees the fall not long after, the call to remind him of why he’s here. He couldn’t see the bottom, only the darkened waves sloshed around by unrelenting winds, whispering, threatening to drag him under.

Seungcheol’s loud, impish snort stops him from taking a step towards the cliff.

That’s the second time today, perhaps the hundredth time since Wonwoo first stepped foot on Kodiak Island. Whether Seungcheol realises that he’s been establishing these lifelines for Wonwoo, Wonwoo doesn’t know—doesn’t want to know. He wants to keep the facade longer.

“What?” 

If Seungcheol notices the lack of hostility in Wonwoo’s gaze, he ignores it, meets him with smile instead. The soft downwards curve of his eyes has Wonwoo gritting his teeth. “Nothing, you’re just amazing. Seeing you in your element is always fun to see.”

Wonwoo stills again now, heart in his throat, buzz of electricity dusting his cheeks with heat.

“Let’s get this stuff done, all right? We have combat training tomorrow,” Wonwoo says, hands reaching for his tablet to open the worksheet for hydraulics, a distraction under the guise of necessity.

It’s Seungkwan leading the conversation after, Seungcheol letting Seungkwan indulge his questions, work his way out of the equations, Wonwoo hovering by in case he makes any errors. Seungkwan is good company, Wonwoo finds, brings a little sense of home to the concrete and metal of the academy. The subtle wonder in his voice and smiles equally endless, Seungkwan finds his way into Wonwoo’s sphere without much difficulty.

Another thing Wonwoo notes, one in a more amusing light, is that Seungkwan picks things up faster than Seungcheol. A fact Seungcheol doesn’t miss either, having worked his way through the same problems twice.

Seungcheol crumples the paper he just scribbled on. Wonwoo doesn’t need to look to know, picks up his trash bin from the floor, offering it to Seungcheol’s already poised hand. The disfigured paper makes little noise as it bounces down the metal bin.

“You know, both of you are super in sync,” Seungkwan quips, small smile playing on his lips.

A surprised _’oh’_ from Seungcheol, a silent raising of an eyebrow from Wonwoo, a shared glance between them.

“How so?” Seungcheol asks, leaning back on his hands. 

“Well,—“ Seungkwan gestures between them, weaving an invisible line “—you seem like you’ve known each other for years, for one. You first met here, right?”

“A little over a month ago,” Wonwoo confirms.

“Right, it’s only been a month.”

“Halfway through our first trimester,” Seungcheol grunts, “I feel like it’s been longer, and we haven’t even made the first cut yet.”

“I think you both will make the cut just fine, you’re definitely drift compatible.”

Nothing on Seungkwan’s face dismisses his statement as a joke. Wonwoo’s heard the phrase before, of course he has, Hansol’s late night calls years ago saturated with everything and anything Jaeger tech that it’s hard to miss. Not that Wonwoo doesn’t know beforehand, hours of classes and stacks of modules of the PONS system stone-carved in the back of his head.

Perhaps it’s the latent static that’s been growing between them, or Seungkwan’s off-hand observation, but Wonwoo averts his eyes to meet the floor instead, Seungcheol’s gaze now heavier on his skin. Haze of warm smoke meeting the cold sees below. Billowing, enshrouding his skin.

“We just have to wait to find out,” Seungcheol says, smile in his lilt. 

The list of questions Seungcheol must’ve grown, Wonwoo surmises. They’ve been there since day one and yet he never asks, waiting for Wonwoo to reach out to him instead.

“You know what would make the days go by faster? Sleep.” Seungkwan yawns without bothering to hide it, comfortable enough. “It’s late.”

It must be Seungkwan’s effort to thwart the brewing atmosphere, not intending to let the room dampen even further. Wonwoo offers him a mute thanks for it.

Scrambling from his spot, Seungcheol stretches as he makes his way towards the door. He opens the door and stops, “Let’s head back then. Thank you, Wonwoo.”

With a small wave behind his back, Seungcheol disappears out the door, not waiting for any response from Wonwoo. Seungkwan makes up for it with a far cheerier exit, almost antithetic to Seungcheol’s.

“Oh, Wonwoo-hyung?” Wonwoo hums, waits for what Seungkwan has to say next. “Thank you, you were such a great help.”

Wonwoo shrugs, leans against his doorway. He can’t help the ghost of a smile forming. “Perks of having a mechanical engineering degree. See you, Seungkwan.”

Wonwoo waits until Seungkwan disappears around the corner down the corridor, metal pipes and pale concrete the last thing Wonwoo sees before closing his own door.

The silent confinement of his room has his previous feeling returning, a deep setting in his chest, dragging his heart down to melt with malignant heat. His roommate wouldn’t return until only a minute of curfew’s left. And so, Wonwoo takes his time.

Cleaning his desk is only a rudimentary denial in his part, task menial enough to preoccupy his buzzing headspace. Doodles Seungkwan left catches his eye for a moment. Not for long, though. It’s what Hansol used to do on his notes as well. Wonwoo stops, settles back down on his chair for the last time that night.

It’s unavoidable, having the tags splayed out under his desk lamp like this. The name glints under the light, and Wonwoo considers opening his tab to do something he’d regret. He’s only a button away. A few dials in and Wonwoo would hear his voice.

There’s no other person he could think of to talk about this; the trickle of fear from knowing someone has the potential to be up in your head in the future; the knowledge that with gain comes loss, and how Wonwoo isn’t prepared for it.

His fingers curl back, stays frozen long enough for the screen to die out into sleep mode.

  
  


☵

  
  


**March 23rd 2021.**

The Kwoon Room isn’t something he knows; everything that comes with it a foreign sensation to all of his senses; routine a toll on his body, on his mind. But he persists, fists tight around his jō staff. Wonwoo’s wrung to his very bones, unformed bruises pulsing underneath his clothes as he moves to dodge another blow, to get another hit in.

Fatigue catches up to him eventually. It slithers like a snake around his ankles, a deafening hiss accompanying the yank to his foothold.

Everything spins above him before gravity slams his backside onto the mat. It remains spinning for a few seconds, his body’s inertia knocked out of its bearings to continue and make him dazed. He jams his eyes shut. Fights the ringing in his ears. Ten minutes of continuous combat has Wonwoo’s breaths coming out in harsh gasps. He would’ve chosen to stay lying on the mattress, if not for the end of Seungcheol’s staff at the tip of his chin, rough wood grating against his skin, or the other cadets waiting for their turn.

“Ten to nine,” the Kwoon master announces, voice weaker than it was an hour ago. Nothing but added buzz on Wonwoo’s ears. “I’ve seen enough.”

Seungcheol offers a hand and Wonwoo takes it with a heave of breath. Seungcheol all but guides him to the side of the room, a stone pillar with no intention of breaking.

“That was the longest we’ve ever sparred,” Seungcheol notes, hands still firm on Wonwoo’s shoulder.

“I know.” His answer comes as a cough more than a sentence.

“And I know you felt what I felt.” Seungcheol helps Wonwoo collapse against the wall, not offering any elaboration to his statement.

He doesn’t need to, for Wonwoo had felt exactly what Seungcheol did. It lodges its way up Wonwoo’s throat, a silent yet definite answer. A part of him is glad he’s too preoccupied with attempting to keep his breathing even; Seungcheol’s gaze on him hard to return. Almost raw, something akin to expectation pooling in the downwards curve of his eyebrows, skin wrinkling, contemplative.

A water battle shakes in Wonwoo’s peripheral view, Seungkwan’s concerned face at the end of it when he glances to see. One sigh of relief escapes him. Wonwoo motions him closer and Seungkwan crouches, smiles when Wonwoo ruffles his hair. Always with the necessary distraction; Seungkwan knows Wonwoo’s cues by now, as though he’s jotted down a profile of every single person he’s met in his book, tucked somewhere easily accessible whenever the moment arises; something Seungkwan is adept in. 

“Thank you, Seungkwan.” Wonwoo all but gulps down the water. He closes his eyes and leans back until his head hits the wall.

The sound of the Kwoon room buzzing once more as the next set of recruits spar has Wonwoo frowning, attempting to keep the headache at bay. 

“Are you okay?” It’s Seungkwan again, his frown already forming in Wonwoo’s head without him needing to open his eyes.

Wonwoo runs his hand through his face, sweat sticking to his palms, dizziness held at bay with the motion. “I am.”

It’s always been Wonwoo’s biggest concern before stepping foot on Kodiak Island. He hasn’t the prowess of someone athletic; all-nighters and hours of hunching down on a workbench prevented him from coming close to it.

Seungcheol also has his eyebrows furrowed for a different reason than before, and Wonwoo wants nothing but to smooth out the lines. He doesn’t.

Wonwoo’s wry smile dismisses the frown on Seungcheol’s face, a splinter of hope in the way Seungcheol nods, almost solemn, yet Wonwoo knows it is anything but. Trust prevails to be the most important resource in ranger pairs. And Seungcheol has plenty for him. No matter how misplaced Wonwoo sees it as.

“Isn’t your exam still tomorrow Seungkwan?” Seungcheol asks instead.

A nod, smile almost contagious. “Yeah, but I can’t just miss out on yours. Besides, this was my time to prove my hypothesis.”

Laughter bubbles up his throat despite everything and Wonwoo lets it spill out. The Kwoon room drowns it, but Wonwoo doesn’t mind, the alcove that is the three of them the only thing that matters. The only thing he needs to keep whole here. “And your conclusion?”

“That you are!” Seungkwan sidles up next to Wonwoo, not seeming to mind the sticky sheen of Wonwoo’s skin as he leans against him. “You were both nearly toe-to-toe, and ten to nine? That’s big. I have no more doubts left now.”

This time, it’s Seungcheol who laughs, dimples showing in a rare display of unabashed happiness. “I think I can support your conclusion.”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo agrees, tongue heavy.

Denial would only be a further set-back, another chain trying to drag him under. Wonwoo’s already wearing one around his neck. Perhaps, with him letting this realisation settle upon himself, it’d be easier for him to forget the others.

“Oh, the next one’s starting,” Seungkwan exclaims, body turning away from Wonwoo’s.

When Wonwoo glances at Seungcheol, eyes filled with fervour as he watches the match with Seungkwan, Wonwoo believes forgetting to be possible. He’s had time to reflect, to come to peace with the fact that Seungcheol being his partner is inevitable: he has no other choice. He came here alone and today has just solidified their compatibility. Has convinced Wonwoo that Seungcheol’s a rock he can hide under.

Seungcheol keeps a subtle hand on his back when they walk to the showers, mute electricity warm beneath his skin. And later, when they part for their respective rooms, Seungcheol leaves with a squeeze on Wonwoo’s hand, a brush on Wonwoo’s cheek as he tucks Wonwoo’s hair in.

“See you,” Seungcheol says.

Wonwoo desperately wants to utter everything he’s been keeping, but he smiles instead. “See you.”

  
  


☵

  
  


**April 3rd 2021.**

Sunsets on Kodiak Island are wondrous things to admire. Towers of glass allow the star to grace the otherwise dreary structures with displays of warm hues and hopeful colours.

The bar is filled to the brim, more than usual. Jaeger pilots aren’t allowed to drink for safety measures, but they’re still cadets and days like these allow for celebrations. It’s a little past two months since Wonwoo arrived here and everyone’s celebrating the end of the first part of their trimester. They made the first cut, after all.

Although Wonwoo has his own reservations about drinking, the bottle of beer in his hands is half-empty and the other one already back in the bartender’s hand. A loud cheer erupts from somewhere inside the bar, and Wonwoo ducks his head down, the view of the sunset disrupted for him.

After a moment of deliberation, Wonwoo rises from the nook where Seungcheol and Seungkwan had left him in, moves outside the door to meet the cold air, a contrast to the stuffiness of the bar. His friends would figure out he went outside, so Wonwoo walks without any worry.

He’s maybe had a little too much—something he won’t readily admit—for he now sits at the edge of an accessible cliff near the academy’s vicinity, hands crossed above the metal railing. The ocean rages below his feet, waves crashing against boulders.

For a while, Wonwoo’s able to ignore the waters. As he watches the slow, marvellous descent of the sun, Wonwoo’s mind drift off somewhere else, memories of a warmer wind, a silent promise made as he watches his brother readjusting with normal life.

Wonwoo feels as though a crossroad stands before him; Wonwoo wants to make the first-cut, and yet at the same time he doesn’t, hopes that the academy would send him home with nothing, and perhaps then, Wonwoo would wake up.

Wonwoo came here with a promise and he might have been eluding himself all this time, but Wonwoo knows now more than ever that he’s merely dreaming—floating in a skewed sense of justice. Lies will catch up to you, one way or another, and Wonwoo’s afraid the rock he’s tied himself to would realise he’s been lying to himself all this time, and in turn, lied to him.

Grass rustles behind him, the familiar zap of electricity enough of an indication.

“Can I sit?” 

It’s always at moments like these where Seungcheol asks for permission, despite not needing to. Seungcheol knows Wonwoo, but at times when Wonwoo’s back seem a little lonely—Seungcheol’s words—he would always ask. Seungcheol knows company can be unneeded and Wonwoo appreciates it.

Wonwoo nods, takes another swig from his bottle. At the edge of the island, the wind dances harder than it does inland, it’s colder, too. Yet the alcohol running through his veins has his heart pounding, pumping blood fast enough for him to not get cold.

“It’s kind of funny,” Wonwoo muses.

“What is?”

“I’ve always hated how alcohol makes you able to stand tall in the face of fear at times, and yet it’s out of impaired brain function, stupidity, instead of overcoming it yourself. And here I am consuming it.” Wonwoo stares at the sliver of liquid remaining in his bottle. “It makes you warm, too.”

Seungcheol hums and stays silent for a while, as though weighing his words. “Are you standing in front of something you fear, right now?”

“I am,” Wonwoo answers, putting his bottle down. “One of them is right in front of us.”

Truth is a fundamental part of trust, and Wonwoo delivers it, although partly. What lies in front of them sits as clear as day: a promising ranger pair on their way to the frontlines. Though Wonwoo sees what Seungcheol doesn’t, and that, more than anything, he fears.

“You’re afraid of the ocean?”

“More than I’d like to admit.”

“I see,” Seungcheol says without inflection, no judgement in his words. “And does the beer make you feel braver?”

“Maybe. But I know it’s only for now, and this fear wouldn’t just disappear once I stop drinking.”

Not unless Wonwoo lays it bare, free for Seungcheol to scrutinise, word by word, memory by memory, pain by pain. The sprout of hope had sputtered out into nothing, now that Wonwoo’s at the edge.

“That’s true. The ocean wouldn’t just stop existing.” 

For a moment, only the scratch of the wind fills Wonwoo’s ear, cooling the slight dust of warmth in his cheeks. His head is clear, and the shrinking distance between the both of them is deliberate, more so than his decision to enrol in the academy.

Seungcheol welcomes him, hand moving backwards to accommodate Wonwoo leaning against his shoulders. “You know you can trust me, right? I’m here for you.”

The faux fur on Seungcheol’s jacket tickle his cheeks, and Wonwoo relishes in it, breathes in as much as he can before looking up, determined.

It’s a chess game, both players figuring out the opponent’s next move before it is made, the tension across the chequered board strung and taut—but there’s no competition, only something mutual, a need to understand the other better, deeper. And the tension has dissipated long ago, stray wires now interwoven in place.

“I know,” Wonwoo answers. 

Their lips slot together, unhurried, haste out of the equation. Wonwoo’s lost, but Seungcheol remains there, waiting for Wonwoo to make a move and returns it, patient.

Wonwoo knows Seungcheol is there for him. It’s a painful truth that Seungcheol doesn’t know where Wonwoo’s standing.

There’s nothing after the kiss, Wonwoo falling back on Seungcheol as the last rays of the sun disappear below the horizon. Wonwoo watches Seungcheol instead of the sky, his warm eyes something he hasn’t noticed in full before; a tinge of coffee, dark and honest.

Seungcheol notices the quivering of Wonwoo’s hands, and stands. He offers a hand, to which Wonwoo accepts, and never lets go. No sounds accompanies them on their way back, the boisterous celebration not running for long due to strict curfews, and classes awaiting everyone the next morning.

Both the time and crisp air jolts Wonwoo back on his full senses. The beginning of guilt tastes bitter in Wonwoo’s mouth, threatening to consume him in this very moment, but he swallows it back. Seungcheol’s smile far too sincere for it to rear its head.

Wonwoo wishes he could tell Seungcheol everything before it’s all too late. Wishes he could just come clean and call Hansol back home. But he doesn’t, the warmth that is Seungcheol something he wants to bask in for longer.

  
  


☵

  
  


**April 7th 2021.**

Wonwoo receives a notification on his tablet. Headmaster Kang is calling for him, and though there’s still plenty of time left, Wonwoo’s steps are hurried as he navigates for her office.

“Cadet Jeon,” she greets him when he enters the room, motioning at the chair in front of her desk. “I’m glad you could join me.”

“The pleasure is mine. Might I ask what you need me for?” Wonwoo’s words waver mid-sentence.

“We’re here for a little talk, that’s all.” She smiles when Wonwoo finally sits. “You and Cadet Choi are one of our top candidates despite not coming here together, I assume you know that.”

“I’ve heard quite a bit, yes.” The rumour mill is hard to escape when you’re living under one organisation stationed in an endless yet limited plot of land.

“Good, and I hope you know how important this is considering our…recent losses.”

Wonwoo knows how pivotal new Jaeger pilots during this time is. The time war against the Kaiju is accelerating, and there’s no telling who will emerge on top. Humanity always likes to keep their chances high, no matter the cost. “I am well aware, ma’am.”

Headmaster Kang sighs, routes of her face falling at something unseen. “It’s relieving to hear that but I’ve just received your latest psych reports. And I have to say I have some concerns for you.”

Lead drops in his stomach, seemingly endless in its journey through Wonwoo’s being, his neck now starting to sweat with dread.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, ma’am.”

“How is your brother doing?”

“He’s— “ Wonwoo doesn’t know, at least, not for the last 2 months “—doing well.” He swallows and hopes the answer’s adequate enough.

“I hope he’s recuperating well. A loss like that must’ve been devastating.”

Wonwoo nods, unsure of how to respond.

“Despite that, Hansol was one of our best rangers and I’m sure he has no regrets in his 2 years of service, that he’s proud and would take the same path again if he was given the chance. You more than anyone should know that.”

Once again, Wonwoo hesitates in replying. He knows his younger brother, knows Hansol like the back of his hand and yet Headmaster Kang’s words feel foreign—a truth he’s been refusing to see. Has she been in contact with him?

“You’re not here solely because of guilt, are you?”

Hansol has fallen from his place as a ranger, yes, but Wonwoo hasn’t seen past the fact that it should have been him, instead of Hansol. Wonwoo’s older and perhaps back then he should have dissuaded his younger brother, tried to stop him from going in the academy. Hansol’s forced to quit with merit but the fact that he’s quit alone is Wonwoo’s fault. This has been the truth these past few months. 

And Wonwoo’s decision to step foot in Kodiak Island stands to be his promise to Hansol, to finally be able to protect him as it should have been in the first place—at least, that’s what Wonwoo’s been convincing himself of.

“Headmaster, I—“ Wonwoo stutters to a stop, mind whirring at the exact question he’s been trying to ask himself, yet got buried when he got drunk with another lie.

“There’s no use in denying this, Cadet Jeon.” Headmaster Kang folds her hands, bringing it to her face and covering her lips. A disembodied voice commanding a truth in Wonwoo. “You might not realise it yourself, but your brain doesn’t lie.”

“This…I’m not…” Wonwoo tries and fails. He feels as though he’s been dunked in the cold ocean just miles away, and brought back to be faced with a trial without given time to recover. “I’m not here because of that, Headmaster. And even if it’s partly true, I don’t see it as something that can stop me from piloting.”

“We’ve had similar cases,” she starts, fluttering her eyes close. “Your psyche is important as a Jaeger pilot, more than anything else.”

There’s a simmering heat at the bottom of Wonwoo’s stomach. It’s both denial and the hard truth, Wonwoo reckons, threatening to overwhelm him. “Headmaster, again, I am well aware of the fact. I’m here because of my promise, nothing else.”

Headmaster Kang stills but her gaze never loses its edge, as though her eyes are boring right into his core, Wonwoo’s left with no defence. It takes a while for her to tire of this. Wonwoo doesn’t know if it’s his win or hers.

“I ask nothing of you, Cadet Jeon. We need you, and I hope you find another reason for being here soon. If not, I don’t want you spending your life after this rotting in a Jaeger, regretting every second of it and causing losses for us, for yourself.”

Wonwoo leaves with a bow, hands balled as he makes his way back into his room. Only then do they shake, unravelling from their tight coil and Wonwoo holds his hands close, attempting to reign his fear.

  
  


☵

  
  


**April 14th 2021.**

Nothing gets repeated more than tales of The First Drift, how it would never be perfect, how it’d the make or break for new Jaeger pilot pairs. If you fall out after the first drift and don’t find a middle ground, you’re through, falling without safety nets waiting for you at the bottom. No rangers, no going down in a path of glory in life. It’s no secret most failures come from this stage at the academy.

“You look kind of spooked. I haven’t seen you like this in a while.”

Wonwoo should’ve told Seungcheol before this. It’d be better if he knew out of Wonwoo’s own volition instead of a machine’s, forcefully yanking the memory out of you for the sake of melding their minds together. So yes, Wonwoo’s _spooked._ He isn’t ready.

Headmaster Kang’s words ring in his head, every ridge of her voice engraved in his head. And with time Wonwoo has come to terms that her words rang true; he’s had himself deluded with a lie all this time, and when he looks at Seungcheol, his heart sears.

“It’s nothing,” Wonwoo says, quiet, “I’m just worried.”

“We’re doing this together. You’re not alone, Wonwoo.”

This Wonwoo knows, Seungcheol reassuring him countless times and yet he’s never been able to do the same, heart somewhere else. “I made a promise before coming here.”

Seungcheol stops toying with his Drivesuit helmet, glances at Wonwoo to give him full attention. “To whom?”

“My brother.” _Myself_.

“Hansol, right?” Seungcheol asks, having seen the tags Wonwoo carries multiple times.

Wonwoo nods and takes a deep breath. “I promised to protect him, no matter what happens.” _To avenge him and get rid of my guilt_. 

“And you’re scared of not keeping that promise,” Seungcheol hums, “I might not understand fully, but we’re a team now, all right?”

A jolt runs through Wonwoo’s body, fraying his nerves before the electricity settles in the left side of his chest. The Drivesuit feels heavier, now, mix of tight mesh and sturdy polycarbonate weighing on his shoulders like they never did before, an unfamiliar familiar.

He’s had countless tests Drivesuit tests before this. But Seungcheol’s words set a profound turmoil inside of him and Wonwoo’s at its mercy, bitter guilt returning to his tongue. The drive to tell Seungcheol sprouts, pushes him into words.

“Seungcheol I—“

“Headmaster Kang Seulgi on deck!” The comms buzz to life, signalling the start of their first drift test.

“At ease. Let’s begin the test.”

A rush of activity spurs after Headmaster Kang’s cue, the team of engineer in the mock-pod now assisting both Wonwoo and Seungcheol in fully equipping their Drivesuits. It’s an onrush of helping hands around him. Spinal clamp in place. Helmet over his head. Added weight on Wonwoo’s consciousness.

His unspoken words sink, swift in its descent, postponed for a day that may never come.

When the relay gel has dissipated and both of them are locked on the motion rig, Wonwoo takes a deep breath. He’s been dreading this day and thus has prepared himself, pushing back the memory the best he could, no matter how much his head has chanted: it’s wrong, it’s wrong, it’s a mistake.

“Are you both ready, cadets?” It’s Headmaster Kang, voice distinct even with the slight distortion. 

Seungcheol’s answer comes easy. Yet Wonwoo—Wonwoo feels as though the inquiry’s more for him rather than the both of us.

There’s no time to dwell in his own thoughts, however, for it’s been established from the start: PPDC wastes no time. 

“Initiate neural handshake.”

To say what comes after is a blur would be a disservice to the intricate PONS system.

It’s nothing short of a strenuous journey through his own memories, before being hit by Seungcheol’s, playing out one by one, a record of their life paths before each other. Wonwoo tries to curb the gushing scenes. But he’s unable to, both their memories melding and rushing past him. It must be due to this being their first time, the memories and thoughts indistinct from one another. Nothing but harsh waves. 

Wonwoo’s breathing quickens when his vision returns to him, a plethora of monitors greeting him.

“You okay?”

Seungcheol’s voice comes from somewhere far away but Wonwoo nods anyway, a troupe of high-pitched percussions still invading his ears. It fades out after a minute, Wonwoo’s other senses coming back to him along with another voice, another impulse in his brain. 

An automated voice drones out about them calibrating and Wonwoo feels himself move before he processes it.

“Very good, none of you went out of alignment,” the drift instructor announces, delight in their voice. “You’re the first to achieve that today, congratulations!”

Headmaster Kang chimes in next, the sliver of doubt now non-existent. “Great job. You’re done for the day, we’ll do mock battles starting tomorrow.”

This time, Wonwoo dodges a bullet.

  
  


☵

  
  


**April 18th 2021.**

The next time, Wonwoo bites it, and it plunges through him, wound clean and precise.

Battle simulations are made to be as accurate to real-life Jaeger battles as possible. And it does so with such precision that every sound rumbles, every hit causes pain, and every memory a real threat for him to chase the a reality that has passed. It’s their second time in the mock-pod simulator and Wonwoo thought he’s been keeping himself together well-enough—he hasn’t.

“It’s still moving,” Seungcheol announces a beat too late, as they’ve already turned from the Kaiju.

Only the rumbling of the ground, thunderous in Wonwoo’s ears, precedes the impact. Flesh meeting metal. Gravity betrays the both of them, and they lose their footing.

It isn’t ground that greets their back. The dark waters of the ocean drowns their conn-pod, the skies above disappearing from their view. In the split moment where Wonwoo can still see, he feels himself drowning. Familiar dread trickles down Wonwoo’s back, past the Drivesuit and straight onto his spine, fear striking where it matters the most. 

The TV broadcast from 8 months ago replays without Wonwoo wanting it to. He knows Seungcheol’s also witnessing this, but Wonwoo’s powerless to stop it. A failure to his own weaknesses. Seungcheol’s voice fade in the back of his mind.

Busan’s usually beautiful coast was unrecognisable back then. Carnage and destruction left in the wake of Belobog’s rage. Hansol’s Jaeger fell to the sea, mechanical hands flailing up as they tried to find balance, but to no luck. Hardened talons, dark and grimy and streaked with Kaiju blue, pierced their conn-pod. One half ripped out. The other left to fend for himself.

Then it was Hansol in bed, eyes forlorn as he looked on through the window of the hospital. Wonwoo called his name, gentle, fear interlacing the cadence of his voice. The smile on Hansol’s face is missing _something_ , like a hologram desperately imitating real life. Close, but merely illusionary.

As though constructed to harm him, and Wonwoo’s sure his mind is capable of such insidious things, guilt comes bounding into the drift next. It’s sweeping through Wonwoo’s consciousness, overtaking any little control he has left and grows with every memory of Hansol; of him smiling, of him crying, of him never doing any of those things again. And Wonwoo collapses under the thought that he should’ve done something. He needs to do something.

“Wonwoo.”

His name is an amalgamation of voices. His father, Hansol, Seungcheol. _Seungcheol_.

“Wonwoo, come back to us.”

Wonwoo jolts back to the frantic beeping of machinery, an arm steadying him under his shoulders, another one under his neck, firm and unwavering. Heart thundering in his chest, Wonwoo finds Seungcheol above him.

“Hey, I’ve got you,” Seungcheol whispers, not letting anyone around them invade their space. “I’ve got you.”

“Seungcheol.” Wonwoo’s breath is cut short, Seungcheol’s name coming out patchy.

“I’m here. You’re here.”

The tempestuous storm passes, excruciatingly slow, ensuring that Wonwoo’s hit with its worst before it dissipates. It doesn’t matter much, however. When the both of them face Headmaster Kang, her gaze is reserved only for him. And Wonwoo knows he’s failed to meet his own words. As any other ranger hopefuls, both of them faced the full consequence of their failure. Even though Wonwoo knows this is entirely his.

A decision solidified inside him, different from the one before. Wonwoo knows when he’s out of place. Always knows when he’s stepped over his own boundaries. 

Seungkwan’s face is filled with concern when Wonwoo meets him outside, and something in Wonwoo tells him Seungkwan knows.

Wonwoo has promises to keep, but the miles are getting longer and he’s only getting farther away.

  
  


☵

  
  


**April 20th 2021.**

Perhaps it’s Seungcheol’s fingers entangled in his, refusing to let go, that makes the plane seem a lot bigger than it is. Wonwoo’s nothing beside it, nothing without Seungcheol, and he will carry nothing back home.

“Are you sure? We’re perfectly fine, we can still drift,” Seungcheol asks though it sounds more like reassurance.

One that Wonwoo doesn’t need, for his decision has been a long time coming, and nothing can ever change it. They’re not fine, either, Wonwoo’s been hiding since the beginning, and it’s painful, overwhelmingly so, to keep everything from Seungcheol, the ever patient Seungcheol.

“I’m sure,” Wonwoo answers. He rubs a thumb over Seungcheol’s hand. “It’s not that I don’t trust you. I can’t even trust myself.”

“Wonwoo—“ Seungcheol stops when he meets Wonwoo’s gaze.

“I’m sorry,” Wonwoo starts, tongue ladened with the words he’s been wanting to say, “I thought I was selfless coming here, that I came here for Hansol. But all I was—all I _am_ —is selfish. I came under the guise of protecting him, but leaving him? That was my own twisted decision because I can’t face him. Because I can’t face myself.”

Seungcheol pulls him closer this time, as if trying to create distance between them and the plane. “I’ve been inside your head, I’ve seen a lot about you to know that you’re not one to give up. We can work this through.”

“I used you, Seungcheol.”

At this, Seungcheol stills. His lips mum in the cold. Their proximity a detriment instead of something amiable. 

“Your presence is so warm, welcoming. You’re a rock where I can lean on and forget all my worries, even for a moment.” Wonwoo lets go, hands wounding around himself. “I basked in it—I basked in _you_. And every time I’m with you I feel like I can forget about everything.”

A few seconds pass with Seungcheol’s silence, and Wonwoo can almost see the gears turning in Seungcheol’s head. “So, we were a lie?”

“No,” Wonwoo denies, instant, horrified at the notion. “Never. Everything I did, everything I felt is real. More than anything could be.”

Seungcheol falters, hands going limp by his side, eyes somewhere distant. “I see.”

“You deserve someone who wants to fight alongside you because they want to, because they want to save the world with you, and not because they’re on some crusade trying to scrub clean all of their sins.”

Against his better judgement, Wonwoo closes the distance between them again. “The only person I was trying to save was myself, Seungcheol, you don’t deserve that.”

Leaning forward, Wonwoo waits for a refusal, a push of disgust—anything. There’s none of that, Seungcheol remaining in place and somehow, it rends his heart apart more than outright rejection.

Wonwoo presses his lips on the corner of Seungcheol’s mouth, hesitant, hovering after a second. Seungcheol does nothing and so Wonwoo steps backwards, enters the plane waiting to take him back home.

“Wonwoo.”

He glances back, wishing, hoping Seungcheol would at least show some resentment. For the sake of his own mind. It’d settle better in his mind knowing that, no matter how impossible it is, Seungcheol doesn’t accept the lie he’s been keeping.

“Please take time for yourself. Let’s meet in a better place.” Seungcheol glances down at his hand, wrings it before looking back up, smiling. There’s nothing that indicates what Wonwoo hopes for on his face. It’s the assured calm after a storm, dawn of sunlight waiting to share warmth with the dampened world.

Seungcheol is someone Wonwoo could never be, something Wonwoo could never be: selfishly selfless.

“I’ll be waiting for you, always.”

Wonwoo swallows his tears, let the hours of flight stretch out until he’s lost himself in thought.

  
  


☵

  
  


**April 21st 2021.**

Wonwoo doesn’t quite know what to expect, coming back here unannounced, in the same exact fashion in which he left. No words, no messages, just a few missing belongings and Wonwoo’s gone.

It feels strange, ringing the doorbell to your own house as though you’re a stranger. Maybe he is; the time he spent chasing a lie has him loosing sight of himself. Wonwoo reaches for the tags around his neck, doesn’t quite take it off yet as he tries to calm his ever rampant worries down.

There’s not enough time though, there’s never enough time.

The door opens and greeting Wonwoo—ah, of course, it has to be him. There’s no one else living in this house except the both of them, after all. Wonwoo doesn’t know what else he expected.

When Hansol utters his name, voice breaking apart along with his usual cheery demeanour, Wonwoo’s head reels. 

A mile a minute, no space nor time to form a proper sentence, let alone an apology. “Hansol, I—“

It’s the tears, Wonwoo thinks, the wetness latching to his shirt along with Hansol’s arms around him, that causes him to let go. The wetness rolls down his cheeks when he carefully moves the both of them inside the house, closing the door behind him. He lets his knees buckle then, back hitting their door, crumpling to the ground with the weight of Hansol and everything else on him.

If he were to let any sound out, Wonwoo doesn’t know how it would affect Hansol. And so, he keeps quiet. His hands stay buried in Hansol’s hair, feeling the shake of Hansol’s body with every sob he lets out against Wonwoo’s shirt. Wonwoo could count the times he’s heard his brother cry like this; once when Wonwoo broke his toy; the second one when Hansol fell off a bike and scraped his knee.

When the sounds dim and Wonwoo feels his muscle protest for staying in one position for too long, he stands along with Hansol, helps him settle into their living room couch. Wonwoo fetches a glass of water, kneels in front of Hansol to give it to him. His hands stay on Hansol’s knee, regretful.

Hansol takes his time with drinking, hands never leaving the glass when he’s done. His eyes never stray from Wonwoo’s when he talks. “Why? Why did you leave with nothing but a letter telling me you’re fine?”

It’s an expected question, of course, but Wonwoo doesn’t have an answer. “I don’t know, I was foolish.”

Fiddling with the cup on his lap, Hansol stays silent.

Wonwoo knows his answer is anything but an answer, an excuse perhaps, but it doesn’t feel like one, either. He’s just lost. Even though he desperately wants to find his way back home to Hansol, Wonwoo doesn’t know if the door’s even open.

“At least tell me where you disappeared to for two months.”

“Kodiak Island,” Wonwoo says, breath quivering. The fright that dawns on Hansol’s face has Wonwoo looking away.

There’s nothing in the room except for the ticking of their clock, each staccato another cleave to Wonwoo’s heart, a reminder just how inexcusable him leaving without a word was.

Heart heavy and hands trembling, Wonwoo takes the cup from Hansol’s clutch, sets it down on the floor next to him. He takes the tags off of his neck next, placing in Hansol’s now empty hands, returning them to their rightful owner.

The dog tags disappear from Wonwoo’s sight as Hansol clenches his fist around it

“I know you’re mad at me,” Wonwoo starts, he himself unsure.

“I am.” Tears gather again at the edge of Hansol’s eyes and Wonwoo wants nothing but to wipe them away. But he doesn’t, Hansol’s next words stopping him. “I am so angry and disappointed and my heart hurts so much that I don’t even know what to feel. And taking these? My mind went to places I don’t want to know.”

“I know sorry is not going to be enough, but I’m sorry, Hansol,” Wonwoo says in one breath, “I shouldn’t have taken your tags, and I should’ve at least told you where I went—”

His words die on his tongue when Hansol throws the tags away, metal and rubber clunking off the wall, dull. 

“It doesn’t matter.” Hansol falls forward, clutches Wonwoo’s shoulders, grip bruising. “It doesn’t matter. You’re here now. I… I just don’t want to lose anyone else.”

As Wonwoo circles his arms around Hansol’s back once more, lead makes itself home in his chest. Hansol’s words grips his heart with sorrow, and Wonwoo stops the whimper threatening to spill from his throat. These past months he’s been too focused on trying to redeem himself, and yet in that feat he’s forgotten what Hansol needed most: him. Hansol has said it before and even if he didn’t, Wonwoo knows. Wonwoo should know.

He doesn’t deserve this. Wonwoo can’t help the repeated whispers of ‘sorry’, but with it, a volition gathers itself inside him. Another promise, and this time, he intends to keep it.

  
  


☵

  
  


**May 2nd 2021.**

Hansol walks out of his room at Wonwoo’s call for breakfast, smile a little wider than yesterday. It’s been like this for a week: both of them slowly chipping at the ice that’s constructed itself between them without any of them realising. Despite the hurdles, it is harder to resent someone you deeply care for than it is to grow together, to learn from past mistakes. Not quite forgive them just yet, but they’re on their way.

Wonwoo will wait forever if he has to. For he’s realised in spite of coming from a place of guilt and misplaced intentions, his promise pertaining Hansol stays true: He will protect him, even if the waves drag him under, even if the ground crumbles and the skies roll away into oblivion.

It just turns out he doesn’t have to do so with risking his life in the frontlines. Wonwoo only wishes he could tell Seungcheol this.

“I’ve got word from the PPDC,” Hansol says when they finished their meals, expression not indicative of spite. “They want me to join the Nagasaki shatterdome strike group.”

“Oh?” To say he’s surprised would be downplaying the sudden beat of drums in his chest.

“Don’t worry, they just want to station me in the LOCCENT. Mission control.”

Wonwoo nods, some of his worry subsiding. “Are you considering on this offer?”

Hansol shrugs, the confident smile splaying on his lips something Wonwoo hasn’t seen in ages. “I know I’m benched from being a ranger, but I was still one of the best out there, you know.”

A snort and Wonwoo rises from his seat to clean up the dining table. “I’d love to refute that but I can’t, sadly.” He takes Hansol’s empty plate and moves towards the kitchen sink. “When do they want you on site?”

Wonwoo turns on the water, not intending to let dirty dishes linger,

“As soon as I possibly can.”

Wonwoo stops, “I see.”

“You know, you can come with me.” When Wonwoo shoots him a look Hansol smiles, hopeful. “You’ve taken the J-tech program for the PONS system when you took your masters and you passing the first cut in the academy means your position as officer is guaranteed.”

“I know that,” Wonwoo turns off the water and wipes his hands on his shirt, “It’s just that I’m not sure if I want to be there after, well, everything that happened.”

“Do you not want to be with me?”

It’s a joke, every detail about Hansol says so, but Wonwoo tastes bitter on his tongue. “You know I do. I hope you never think otherwise.”

“Yeah,” Hansol says, only realising what he said. A little too soon, perhaps. “But hyung, I mean it when I say want you with me. I need you.”

Those three words carry more meaning than it should, the past year shaping them the way they are now. Wonwoo nods as the decision solidifies itself, and he hopes he also gets the chance to make it up with another person. No matter how low the chances are.

  
  


☵

  
  


**July 23rd 2021.**

Days on the Nagasaki Shatterdome passes by without any intention of leaving meaning. Wonwoo’s where he’s supposed to be, doing what he’s supposed to do, and yet a part of him aches for something he doesn’t have. A missed chance, and more than anything, a failed kinship with someone he misses more than he should.

Watching the two ranger pairs stationed at his shatterdome has been an experience, for a lack of a better word. He regrets not being able to watch Hansol up close when he was still active.

The shatterdome itself is a living being; every corridor filled with people; sounds of machinery and the chatter of everyone living in it never ceasing even in the late hours of the night; 

“Wonwoo!” It’s Soonyoung, Wonwoo can tell without taking his eyes off of the graph. “Come on down, let’s have lunch with the others.”

“I can’t, Soonyoung,” Wonwoo says, swivelling his chair to meet the blonde technician. Wonwoo grimaces at the grease on Soonyoung’s cheek. Must’ve had his hands deep in Nova Hyperion just moments ago. “There’s been a few bugs in the neural handshake, I’ve got to fix that before tonight.”

“But from what I’ve heard the problem isn’t big, and we literally just discovered it after this morning’s battle. It’s only been 4 hours since then.”

“Exactly.” Wonwoo turns back, pushes his glasses back up as the fluorescent light started to feel harsh on his eyes.

“Wonwoo,” Soonyoung calls again, voice enough of a hint to his exasperation, “We just had a Kaiju attack this morning. There won’t be any for a long while, you can take it easy.”

“That, I can’t do. You can never be too careful.”

Wonwoo ignores Soonyoung after that, and after Soonyoung’s perseverance, which lasted an incredible total of 2 minutes, he’s left to his own devices. 

“Don’t overwork yourself, all right? Eat when you get the chance to.”

Using the brief interruption as an excuse, Wonwoo turns off the multiple displays he has open and rubs his eyes, now sore and throbbing, before standing up for a well-needed stretch. He hears a couple of bones pop, curved fingers protesting under the pressure as he walks towards the slightly tinted window.

The local command centre allows a vast view of the Jaeger Bay. Wonwoo watches as the crew of the Jaegers flock for the lunchroom, something he makes an extra effort to avoid. Actual sweaty sweatshirts, trousers ladened with oil and various other aqueous substances—Wonwoo would rather not come in contact with them seeing how packed the showers at certain showers can be. Him staying in the LOCCENT for the good part of his day is an adequate excuse.

Going back to his chair is a reluctant decision on his part, but duty and responsibility defeats any complain he has.

Wonwoo allows himself a little cheer of victory when the fleck on the neural handshake disappear. Seems like he doesn’t need to call Mingyu from programming after all.

Just as he’s about to head to the cafeteria to get whatever lunch he’s left with, the metal doors slide open. In comes Hansol, smile on his face and two trays on his hands.

“I brought you lunch,” he announces, putting down one of the trays to drag a chair near Wonwoo’s. “Managed to snatch your favourite strawberry pudding.”

“Thanks.” Wonwoo nods, accepting the food from Hansol’s hands. “Did Soonyoung tip you off?”

“As he always does, but at least I can get you to eat that way. Most of you J-techs can have no sense of time when a problem pops up.”

“Doesn’t really matter when your only point of reference regarding to time is the next Kaiju attack. And I thought the academy was stressful enough.” Wonwoo slumps, shaking his head. “Let’s eat.”

Hansol takes the first bite for them, raising his eyebrow when Wonwoo doesn’t start eating. “I really can’t grasp why you would want to go there of all places.”

“I never really told you why I went, did I?”

“Wait, save that for after lunch,” Hansol says, hands coming in front of him to halt Wonwoo.

Wonwoo chuckles and focuses on not spilling his food from the very limited space of the command table. It isn’t much of a hassle, being here for over a month is enough to adapt to the rhythm of the shatterdome. That is to say, adapting to almost nothing as people work in an erratic tempo; the impending apocalypse leaves no room for order most of the time.

“Right, so tell me,” Hansol starts after he sets his tray down on the floor, “Jaeger Academy.”

Wonwoo hums, averts his eyes to the metal floor as he recalls the memory. “I guess I should start with telling you that I went because of you.”

“You went because of me?”

“Well, in a sense, but I realised later that I went for myself. But not for a good reason at all.” At the soft nudge on his legs, Hansol tapping his shoe at the heel of Wonwoo’s, Wonwoo finally looks at him. He smiles, but it feels heavy to do. “I felt guilty for all that happened and I thought that, somehow, fighting in your stead would wash away my guilt.”

“Hyung,” Hansol trails off, soft. He drags his chair closer. “You don’t have to talk about this.”

It’s funny, how this seem to have affected Wonwoo more than it does Hansol. Hansol was the one who faced death head on and yet Wonwoo’s the one who has lingering fears for it. They’re different, Wonwoo knows this, but it doesn’t diminish just how delicate this topic is for the both of them.

“Don’t worry, I already went through all this with Junhui. He’s helped a lot.”

Wen Junhui, Nagasaki shatterdome's resident psychologist, a lover of cats as much as he is a lover of helping those around him. Junhui's office is probably the most charming corner in the whole shatterdome, which serves as a testament of just how immaculate his ability to turn even the vapidest of spaces into one that is pleasant—loving, even—is. Trinkets from his hometown, Shenzhen, lines two rows of his shelf, the rest filled with tokens of his time in Anshan and Seoul. Each of those pieces hold meaning to him, and thus they translate into a welcoming atmosphere, one Wonwoo doesn't quite find anywhere else. Wonwoo's frequent visit to Junhui's office is a two-man decision. Both him and Hansol has gone to Junhui, once together, the rest alone.

“I see.” Hansol has one of those looks again, the one he has whenever he’s stayed still long enough to let everything that happened wash over him. “There’s nothing for you to feel guilty about, you know this. I don’t regret ever going out there. We both don’t, so you shouldn’t either.”

Wonwoo nods, eyes heavy. “It’s hard, but I’m working on it. And besides, in my time there I did realise that I want to protect you, no matter what. We can say my time at the academy was a failed trial of me trying to do that.”

“You being here is enough. I can’t ask for anything else and I’d rather you not fight out there at all.”

Wiping the moisture away from the corners of his eyes, Wonwoo attempts his best to ignore the twinge in his heart. He’s had Hansol witness enough of his pathos when this isn’t about him. There’s another time for tears, he reckons, and even if there’s none, he’s fine with it.

“Thank you.” Wonwoo reaches out to ruffle Hansol’s hair. He remembers someone else, then. “But you know, I didn’t exactly have a bad time there.”

“Even with the combat training and everything?” Hansol asks, face morphing into one of goofy surprise.

“Even with the combat training and waking up at 5 in the morning.” Wonwoo chuckles at the memory. “I met with someone your age and in a couple of ways he reminded me of you.”

“He must’ve made you miss me, then.”

A gasp feigning surprise, “How did you know?” Wonwoo laughs after that, kicking Hansol’s chair away. “But yes, yes he did. And my drift partner,” Wonwoo stops when he feels a dry smile finding its way on his lips, “he’s amazing. I wish I didn’t leave the way I did.”

Hansol’s eyes glimmer with something akin to persuasion, but he’s patient in his wait for Wonwoo’s continuation.

“I miss him.”

This is something they also share, though not in the exact same manner. Hansol understands and so he reaches forward, clamps his hand down on Wonwoo’s shoulder.

“You work for the PPDC and if he made it till the end then, who knows, maybe you’ll be able to meet him again someday.”

“I don’t even know if I’m hoping for that, but I hope so. I have a lot to tell him.”

  
  


☵

  
  


**September 1st 2021.**

Believing that your intention and thoughts have any impact in the events of the world would be considered far too optimistic, if not foolish. Kaijus don’t just disappear with a thought, after all, and the losses humanity has suffered, equally immeasurable as it is devastating, would cease to have meaning if their problems could be solved by something as whimsical as a wish.

But at this very moment, Wonwoo feels the error in the belief, although partly. Hansol’s words the pertaining to Seungcheol has stuck ever since he said it. It isn’t ridiculous to keep hope.

“Marshal Yoon, what about the rumours of us receiving the new Jaeger?” Hong Jisoo, the Pan Pacific Defense Corps’ best assault specialist to date, asks, face solemn.

At this, Wonwoo perks up, his previous fatigue evaporating as the conversation in the board meeting turns in a more hopeful direction.

“I’m glad you asked that, Jisoo.” The smile on Jeonghan’s face is easy, visibly excited in what he’s about to deliver. “Our shatterdome has been missing a third Jaeger for quite some time, and the corps is kind enough to give us the newest Mark-V. It isn’t a rumour. I expect you to formulate new battle strategies for a three-way battle soon.”

“And the pilots?”

“New faces from the academy. Their track record is more than impressive, however. They’ve been running back-up for Vulcan Specter in Sydney, so we can say they have a little experience. Wonwoo,” Jeonghan calls, “I want you to set up an extra neural handshake channel in the coming week.”

Wonwoo blinks at the sudden request, but manages to get his thoughts together. “I will see to it, sir.”

“As much as I would _love_ to let this meeting drag on, we’ll have another meeting regarding Eon Parallax next week. For now, the meeting’s over. See everyone in a few minutes.”

The atmosphere as everyone left the room carries a different weight to it. As opposed to the monotonous, muted determination from the meetings before this, it holds hope.

Wonwoo himself has a wish for something impossible, he realises this and yet he keeps it close, doesn’t let go of it as he works on the neural handshake channel as Jeonghan asked.

  
  


☵

  
  


**September 11th 2021.**

Eon Parallax arrives on a day without Sun, harsh winds and roaring thunders greeting her before the Shatterdome. Wonwoo has enough clearance to witness her arrival, and he watches as the new Mark-V takes her place in one of the dome’s docking bay, the sleek glint of her midnight blue coat dappled with raindrops. And under the cold, white lights of the bay, she is exactly as her name implies: a parallax. A single blink from a different angle, and she’s almost one with the battered walls of the Shatterdome.

She’s a beauty, both in the literal and technical sense. Wonwoo has read its logs, and this might just be the best Jaeger to join their ranks. With the X17 Supercell chamber power system and the Aribter 12 TAC-CONN operating system—both the latest technologies developed in the 2 years after Striker Eureka went into service—Eon Parallax is lighter and smoother than ever, a guaranteed menace in the battlefield.

The excitement surrounding her commissioning and arrival isn’t a big surprise to anyone. With the last Kaiju attack on Vladivostok bringing an unprecedented level of loss just a week ago, it’s only natural for people to cling onto something, to cast their hopes into the newest 1,700-ton machine, even when its still prone to human failure.

Footsteps stop right behind Wonwoo, followed soon after by panting and a sound of wonder. Wonwoo glances to find Mingyu, hands on his knees as he stares up at the new Jaeger.

Mingyu gathers himself after a second. “Hyung, I finished the programming for the new neural handshake channel. It’s up and running and ready for the trial tomorrow.”

“Just in time,” Wonwoo taps Mingyu on his arm, “thank you, Mingyu. You did great.”

“Anytime.”

Eon Parallax’s docking snatches their attention away soon, and they converse, in between the sounds of the storm and machinery, Wonwoo amused by Mingyu’s exuberance. It is another Korean Jaeger after all, the second one in their shatterdome after Nova Hyperion and Mingyu mentions how a friend of his had worked on it. Mingyu’s musing of how, Wonwoo paraphrases, he can’t wait to get in the programming of that thing distracts Wonwoo from anything else happening in the Jaeger bay.

Mainly, Marshal Yoon approaching them with new faces that has just landed on helicopter a few moments ago. Air surrounding him calm as it usually is even in the worst of calamities, Jeonghan waves when Wonwoo spots them.

Wonwoo inclines his body forward out of habit, Mingyu following beside him.

“Wonwoo, Mingyu,” Jeonghan nods in greeting, “I’d like you to meet our newest Rangers.”

The Marshal moves aside to allow a better view of the two people behind him. They might be new faces as Jeonghan mentioned, but not for Wonwoo. Not for Wonwoo.

Wonwoo feels something coming up to his throat and it stays there, gnawing at his very breath.

“Choi Seungcheol and Boo Seungkwan. You four will be working soon enough, I hope you get along well.”

The gleam that dawned on Seungkwan’s face is unmistakable and the grin that follows hold nothing but heartfelt joy. Wonwoo can’t bring himself to look at Seungcheol, though.

“Wonwoo-hyung.” Seungkwan rushes forward to throw himself on Wonwoo, not seeming to mind the abruptness of his weight. “It’s so great to see you.”

“Seungkwan, it’s great to see you too.” Wonwoo’s sentence comes out with great effort, his hands coming around Seungkwan to pat him on the back, as well as balance both of them. 

“You two know each other?” Mingyu asks.

“We met in the academy, all three of us did,” Seungkwan happily supplies, detaching himself. “It’s been a while. I’ve missed you.”

Wonwoo doesn’t find it in him to deny that he’s been sharing the same sentiment as him. When Seungkwan moves to greet Mingyu next, Wonwoo’s left with no choice to face the person who, and Wonwoo’s admitting this with difficulty, has been plaguing his mind as of late. Junhui has a part in 

“Wonwoo.”

Hearing his voice, even amidst the perpetual buzz of the shatterdome, has something unfurling in Wonwoo’s chest. Something intangible, both warm and freezing and battling to overwhelm him, intermittent in their exchange. It’s unbearable, and he’s at a lost as to what to do.

He doesn’t need to figure it out. He doesn’t need to, for Seungcheol inches closer, setting his duffle bag down to wrap an arm around Wonwoo’s shoulders, the other settling behind his head, pulling closer.

Wonwoo almost misses the soft hey Seungcheol whispers, far too engrossed in keeping his emotions at bay. Lest he wants everyone to witness him crumble in the middle of the Jaeger bay, of all places. He’s grateful for the cover that Seungcheol’s shoulder provide, and he misses burying his head in them, just like this. Just like before.

“It’s been a while.”

Four months and 23 days, to be exact—Wonwoo’s been keeping count. But he doesn’t say this, letting out a sound of relief instead.

Not much words are exchanged between them, not that there need to be much; the familiar buzz of mute electricity is still present between them, and though Wonwoo has a lot of hesitance as how to move forward, he supposes this is enough for now. They should be enough.

Wonwoo informs Hansol later in the evening, when the shatterdome quiets down and the whirring of machinery is less noticeable. They sit in the upper levels of the bay, feet dangling off of the railings as they watch Eon Parallax make home in their shatterdome.

  
  


☵

  
  


**September 16th 2021.**

Spending too much time at the bridge is a complaint he’s gotten over the last few months. He’s been ignoring various invites ranging from lunch to leisure activities, multiple times on multiple occasions, that these invites have stopped coming entirely—save for few persistent people.

Late evenings and early mornings are the only time Wonwoo sets himself out from the LOCCENT, and the sliver of time in between those he spends in his room, attempting rest in a work environment that supported almost none. If Wonwoo could ignore the part where his work has a considerable part in staving off the end of the world, this isn’t much different from his days in university.

In the same way he did back then, Wonwoo manages to create a routine amidst chaos. The deserted hallways of the shatterdome during the earliest hours of the day is almost surreal; the light from the high ceilings reflection off of the sleek concrete floor luminous; the squeals and hisses of the pipes creating a rhythmic ensemble of their own; and if Wonwoo slows down, closes his eyes and drown out the other noises, he could hear the fierce waves of Nagasaki Bay, muted by the walls.

To this sound does Wonwoo often find himself in the Kwoon room, empty during the hours as even rangers needed sleep after hours of physical maintenance. Jihoon has given him special permission to the room. It was a gruelling process to make the man cave, but Wonwoo prefers to not take any chances, considering how Jihoon’s capable of taking anyone down in one fell swoop.

Wonwoo would start by taking one of the staffs from the racks lining up the far wall, steadies his breathing as he goes over the motions of the Jaeger Bushido, habit never truly leaving him ever since the academy. The sweat he works out relieves him off the pain from sitting for hours, and with the chorus of the sea as a faint background noise, Wonwoo reminds himself that he’s in control.

This particular part of his routine has been a culmination of both his sleeplessness, his itch of never forgetting his training in the academy, and Junhui’s insistence. Having something you can ease your mind into is great, Junhui said.

Wonwoo remembers doing this with someone else, now, since Seungcheol’s here with him. As though accompanied by a ghost, Wonwoo stances himself for combat; staff steady in front of him, steps circling around an invisible person. He strikes forward, swing ripping the air with an audible sound. Wonwoo retreats, and sweeps low. The movements come back to him, steady as a rock in the tide.

When he finishes to the early signs of dawn, the small, twin windows near the ceiling allowing him a glimpse of the sky outside, Wonwoo commits himself to open himself more to Seungcheol.

Sure, animosity between them is out of a question. Wonwoo’s changed and though not entirely sure, he’s sure something’s changed in Seungcheol as well. The smiles and tender touches whenever they pass each other doesn’t, though. And it feels a bit out of place, a shard of the past where they’re different people with different convictions.

It doesn’t diminish Wonwoo’s desire for this, for _them_ , the fondness he has for Seungcheol outweighs any hitches in the road between them.

Wonwoo needs time, a resource they have a scarcity of with an entourage of Kaijus waiting for them in the oceans at their doorstep, he knows this. Yet Wonwoo intends to meet Seungcheol fully, not when a part of him still lingers somewhere else.

  
  


☵

  
  


**October 3rd 2021.**

Kahaku emerges from the breach on a late Monday afternoon, right when the cafeteria’s having a Korean special for lunch, trajectory aimed straight for Shanghai.

The blare of alarms has everyone on their feet within seconds, lunches abandoned as most scramble to their posts. Wonwoo, in the rare occurrence of eating in the packed room, sprints towards the LOCCENT, footsteps drowning in between thousands of others. His heart thunders: this is Eon Parallax’s first Kaiju attack. This is Seungcheol and Seungkwan’s first mission.

He meets Hansol as they climb towards mission control, no time for pleasantries as they hurry to their seats. 

Marshal Yoon stands over the windows overseeing the Jaeger bay, hands poised to give command the second everyone’s stationed. “Enemy status.”

“Kahaku, category-III, swimming straight to Shanghai and not intending to slow down anytime soon, sir,” Hansol provides, monitor bright in front of him.

“Send Eon and Nova to take point, Obsidian will stand-by the miracle line for back up. Are our rangers ready?”

“All suited-up and in the conn-pod sir, ready for the drop.”

A part of Wonwoo chastises himself for his next words, but he’s helpless to his own worries. “Eon’s taking point on her first mission, sir?”

“She’s our best Jaeger we have, officer Jeon. Obsidian is slower, and no matter how good Ranger Lee and Range Xu are, stats don’t lie. We can’t afford any losses.”

Wonwoo swallows whatever protest bubbles up after. He has faith in both Seungcheol and Seungkwan but he can’t help the worry seeping through his very bones. Their first mission is miles away from the shatterdome, and Shanghai is their territory alone. Not Tokyo nor Hong Kong would make it in time if the need arises for aid. It’d be far too late.

There’s safety in numbers though, and Wonwoo’s seen what the rangers of Nova Hyperion and Obsidian Dusk are capable of. Some would argue deploying three Jaegers to deal with a single Kaiju is a waste of resources, but Marshal Yoon cares more for the people than he does about funding, both civilians and his rangers.

The ranger’s report for duty comes in the comms one by one, a steady beacon of hope, battling even the cold Autumn sun.

“Obsidian Dusk ready for the drop.” It’s Seokmin, voice brighter than his previous deployment, the addition of Eon must’ve riled both of Obsidian’s pilots.

There’s a scratch next, before the synched voices of Chan and Soonyoung come through the comms. “Nova Hyperion ready for drop.”

Wonwoo waits for the last one, and everyone’s waiting with him, excited for the newest edition in their roster. Seungcheol and Seungkwan’s test run on Eon Parallax went without any complications. This time, it doesn’t, either.

“Eon Parallax ready for the drop,” Seungcheol says without inflection.

After the conn-pods secured in each of the Jaegers, Jeonghan follows with, “Engage pilot-to-pilot protocol.”

“Engaging,” Yebin responds, hands frantic in initiating the protocol for three Jaegers at once. It isn’t an easy task to do but she does it with such ease that only comes with practice and a tinge of genius. “Pilot-to-pilot protocol engaged, ready for neural handshake.”

“Rangers, prepare for neural handshake,” Jeonghan says into the mic, formality more than anything. Everyone’s familiar with what comes next as their Jaegers are positioned in the launching bay, ready to be hooked up with the Jumphawks hovering above.

It’s Wonwoo’s turn now, his previous worries and thoughts leaving him as he flicks the switches, motion starting to feel familiar. “Starting neural handshake in ten, nine, eight…”

The holographic monitors in front of him flicker, three separate screens shifting as the interface for the Jaegers appear to reflect their pilots’ conditions. Slight worry nearly grips Wonwoo as he observes the left hemisphere of Eon Parallax dip, but it washes itself away soon, the right hemisphere spiking before both of them fall into a stable line, Seungcheol’s assurance diminishing Seungkwan’s worry—he presumes.

“Neural handshake holding strong and steady for the three of them, sir,” Wonwoo says in a sigh of relief, a sense of pride blooming in him.

“Good. Rangers, don’t let the Kaiju pass the miracle line at any cost. Engage in battle according to Jisoo’s tactic.” A pause of contemplation. “And most importantly, don’t die.”

Six pairs of affirmation choruses from the comms, before going back into silence, conversation between them moving to an invisible line through the drift.

The minutes of traversing the East China Sea couldn’t stretch out any longer even if it wants to, the map on the LOCCENT blinking as it shows the race between Kahaku and their Jaegers for the bustling city of Shanghai. Kahaku emerges from under the waves several miles off of the miracle line, rough , grey carapace resembling that of a malformed turtle. Nagasaki’s Jaegers aren’t far behind, and the drone of the V-50 Jumphawks is enough to set the sight of Kahaku unto them instead of the city.

Perhaps it’s the pounding in his chest, rattling his being and drumming loud enough in his ears that Wonwoo’s convinced the whole of mission control can hear it, that has Wonwoo’s gaze transfixed on the central monitor, video feed showing multiple bird’s-eyes view of the Kaiju courtesy to the Jumphawks .

Eon and Nova drops just shy of the Kaiju, Kahaku stunned enough by the sudden intrusion to not immediately attack the Jaegers while Obsidian continues its joyride by the hawks to be dropped several miles further.

When both Eon and Nova stands tall, midnight blue and sleek grey prominent amidst the dreary ocean around them, Kahaku roars, enraged. 

Wonwoo’s heart drops, throat dry as he watches Kahaku’s jaw open to reveal another set of jaw, greenish-blue of its teeth glowing like those deceptive neon signs you’d see in the middle of the night. This doesn’t deter their pilots, however, Soonyoung’s voice cutting through the room with unbridled clarity.

“As we practiced boys, let’s go,” Soonyoung shouts before sprinting off in Kahaku’s direction, Eon following suit.

“We didn’t practice anything!” Seungkwan’s voice hitches at the end, jittery for his first mission and Wonwoo’s glad he has Seungcheol as his co-pilot. “At least, not physically.”

“No time like now to practice then, are you scared, Seungkwan?” Chan asks, and Wonwoo can imagine the teasing smile he has.

There’s a grumble, a couple of unintelligible curses, “I am, and how many times do I have to tell you that I’m older?”

“Seungkwan,” Seungcheol calls voice not holding the same agitation as the rest of them. Wonwoo isn’t sure if they’re supposed to hear this as the remaining part of Eon’s pilots’ conversation disappears before it’s even uttered.

The monitor in front of him shows no sign of deviations in the neural handshake and so Wonwoo leaves them to it, thinks of how Seungkwan drifts better with Seungcheol than he ever could. When it was them, there’s always the few seconds of misalignment before getting back in line, until it all crumbles on their last simulation together.

Jeonghan must find the banter amusing, but as Marshal he has a duty, and fighting a Kaiju is still no laughing matter. Nor is losing rangers. “Rangers, as much as I love hearing how well you get along, get your head in the game.”

“Sorry, sir,” Soonyoung grits out as he makes first contact with Kahaku. 

Nova’s arm holds Kahaku just under its jaw, pushing away its hideous face from Nova’s conn-pod. Their other struggles against both of Kahaku’s taloned claw, but Chan’s shouts suggests he has it under control, if only for the next few seconds. Enough for Eon to land a hit.

Eon rounds towards Kahaku’s side, leg thrusters working full-time to accommodate the speed with which they’re approaching Kahaku, arms spanned out to the side. Another roar rips out of Kahaku as Eon makes impact, tackling the beast down out of Nova’s grip and into the waters.

The sound coming out of Kahaku resembles a whimpering child more than it does a defeated monster.

There’s a whooping cheer from Nova, before they sprint towards Kahaku’s head, deploying Nova’s built-in plasma sword. Wasting no time, Soonyoung plunges the sword, keeping the trashing Kaiju in place.

“Take it away, Eon!”

Both of Eon Parallax’s fist rise to meet in the air, hands interlocking to make the incoming punch hit harder. Right before metal meets flesh, both Seungcheol and Seungkwan’s cry come in through the comms, volume of the sound rivalling the sound wave of their hit. They get three hits in until Kahaku seems to cease its activity. It never is this easy, though.

In quick succession and to the surprise of everyone, Kahaku’s trashing increased in intensity before its hands come up to grip Eon’s abdomen, successfully tossing her off of its body.

There’s a yelp, Seungcheol’s pained groan sending sirens on Wonwoo’s head.

“Nova, move immediately and regroup with Eon,” Jeonghan calls, frantic.

But it isn’t fast enough. Kahaku rips its head away from Nova’s sword, cutting itself in the process and if Wonwoo isn’t already baffled by just how resilient a Kaiju’s anatomy can be, he might as well be scarred for life. 

Nova surges forward in retaliation, managing a few slice to the Kaiju’s abdomen before Kahaku throws itself on Nova’s legs, pushing the Jaeger out of balance.

Jaeger fights aren’s pretty most of the time, they don’t go the prim and perfect way as most of media portrays, Wonwoo knows this, and yet Wonwoo can feel coldness running down his spine as he watches the scene. The rate with which dread clouds his vision is swift. 

“Should we join in, sir?” Minghao asks, urgency in his voice.

“No, hold your ground. This thing is on its last legs.” Jeonghan then glances at Hansol’s monitor, eyes razored in on Eon Parallax. “Eon, do you copy?”

“Yes, sir,” Seungcheol’s answer is immediate but his breathing is strained, a halt after every syllablee. “We’re fine, it just took us by surprise.”

Kahaku cries another guttural sound, as though taunting them. It then continues its assault on Nova Hyperion, leaping on the Jaeger and pushing it towards the ocean, position now reversed.

“If I may, sir,” Hansol starts and only proceeds with Jeonghan’s nod. “Nova, hold on to Kahaku a little longer, deploy the hooks on your forearms to keep it in place.” Hansol flicks through the screens, sending Nova the information before moving to Eon. “And Eon, the Plasmacaster in your right arm allows for pin-point shooting. Charge it up now and aim carefully.”

“Better hurry it up!” Soonyoung says. Both him and Chan goes silent save for a few grunts of effort, hands coming to meet Kahaku’s again, staving off Kahaku’s jaws from the Jaeger the best they could. “This thing isn’t pretty to look at.”

“ _Shit_ , look at its mouth,” Chan says, voice anything but pleased.

“On it,” Seungkwan says, Eon Parallax now back on her legs, right hand coming up to aim for Kahaku. “Hyung, it’s all you.”

“Right, keep it steady now,” says Seungcheol, rising his right hand, poised to shoot. 

“For the love of God, please don’t miss.”

A bright glow of fluorescent blue gathers in Eon’s right arm, whips of energy spinning and intensifying as Seungcheol takes aim, Seungkwan supporting the arm with his left.

“Firing,” Seungcheol says, before a stream of energy blasts from the plasmacaster, landing home on the Kahaku’s abdomen. The beam doesn’t stop until Kahaku releases its last, defeated growl, falling limp to its side.

Silence, waiting both in apprehension and anticipation. Nova doesn’t move from its position, so does Eon, both of the Jaegers on stand-by as the LOCCENT watches with them.

The bright blue dot on Hansol’s screen blinked out of existence and with it, “Kaiju confirmed dead.”

Cheers erupt in the LOCCENT, along with Chan and Soonyoung, a sigh from Minghao, a relieved laugh from Seokmin, and nothing from Eon Parallax’s pair. Wonwoo’s smile shrink when he notices the radio silence from their newest Jaeger. In a feat of worry, he reaches for the mic on his desk.

“Eon, you okay?”

It’s a buzz of static, before Seungkwan cheers, “Yes, yes we’re okay. We’re just recuperating, is all.”

“Congratulations Ranger Choi, Ranger Boo,” Jeonghan smiles into the mic, a glint in his eyes, “that’s your first kill and on your first drop at that.”

When the rangers return, arms weaved around each other’s shoulders and smiles defeating the slight fatigue on their faces, the shatterdome’s filled to the brim with celebration. Wonwoo’s sure someone popped confetti, and confirms it later when he sees a myriad of colours dotting Obsidian Dusk’s feet. It’s something awfully optimistic to keep in these times and in this place, nonetheless.

Seungkwan runs up to him once the crowd begins to disperse, hands tight around his stomach. Habitual, Wonwoo runs his hand through Seungkwan’s hair, repeating the motion until Seungkwan lets go, making room for Seungcheol to join them.

The celebration doesn’t last long. With the war clock reset, the short-lived joy is subdued with the reminder and they all look forward, waiting for another attack, waiting to see if the next would be the last.

  
  


☵

  
  


**October 5th 2021.**

“Can I join you?”

Wonwoo’s halfway through his routine when he spots Seungcheol walking up to the Kwoon room. He inclines his head as an answer, watches as Seungcheol takes off his sweater and boots, leaving him in an undershirt and combat pants.

“Can’t sleep?” He asks when he sees the tautness in Seungcheol’s shoulders.

Rolling both his shoulders and stretching his arms, Seungcheol hums his answer. “Nothing bad happened, but it just keeps replaying in my head—the battle. Something tells me to go here and, well, here I am.”

At Seungcheol’s words, Wonwoo raises an eyebrow, leaning against his staff. “Do you think it’s…the drift?”

“You mean ghost-drifting, with you?” Seungcheol laughs as he takes a wooden staff of his own. “I thought that was a myth, but who knows.”

Both of them position themselves at the opposing ends of the mat, bowing before going into their stances, moving, circling around each other. Motion familiar. Seungcheol moves first, hands raised high.

“Right, I don’t think it is possible, Seungkwan’s your drift partner now,” Wonwoo says with great exertion, parrying Seungcheol’s blow. He pushes his staff forward, deflecting Seungcheol’s staff away, opening up a chance. The sound of Wonwoo landing a hit on Seungcheol’s left shoulder reverbs throughout the room. “Sorry, one-zero”

Seungcheol smiles despite losing a point against Wonwoo, and it stays as he asks the next question. “Are you jealous?”

Wonwoo’s mistake is stopping due to surprise, his flank tapped lightly by Seungcheol’s sneaky blow. “No. You two are good, better than you would be with me but it doesn’t mean I’m jealous.”

“One-one.” Seungcheol steps backwards to create distance again. “What makes you think so?”

This time, it’s Wonwoo who rushes forward, dodging Seungcheol’s diagonal strike before hitting low against Seungcheol’s calves. “Two to one.” As he fades away, Wonwoo says, “You both killed a Kaiju on your very first drop without ever going out of alignment. Not everyone can do that.”

“I can see how it might seem easy to everyone else.”

“What do you mean?” Another mistake, Wonwoo doesn’t dodge fast enough when Seungcheol knocks his staff out of his hands. It’s as though he wants to talk instead so Wonwoo takes his time in fetching the staff back.

“You know how the drift is, it’s a stream we can’t control, one thing leads to another and another leads to another. Seungkwan was afraid, we were both afraid.” Seungcheol tilts his head to the side, asking Wonwoo to continue their spar.

Getting back into stance, Wonwoo circles, waiting. “But your graph never dipped throughout the mission. Never anything significant, in the very least.”

As though on cue, both of them lurch forward at the same beat to meet in the middle, Seungcheol parrying this time Wonwoo’s strike with ease.

“We were lucky enough to recite the poem in time.”

Wonwoo pivots just in time to narrowly miss Seungcheol’s swing, and he sees another gap for a strike, and so he does. The momentum of him dodging and turning has the staff coming in fast. He lands a hard hit, right in the middle of Seungcheol’s abdomen.

Much to Wonwoo’s fright, Seungcheol hisses in pain, clutching his side as he goes down on his knees, staff tight in his grip as a crutch.

“Are you okay?” Wonwoo rushes to kneel beside Seungcheol, staff abandoned as his hands hover over the ranger.

“Yeah,” Seungcheol pants, “it’s where Kahaku gripped us yesterday.”

“I’m sorry, I completely forgot.” Wonwoo’s ears are ringing, there’s a coldness latching on to his neck.

Seungcheol shakes his head. “It’s just a bit sore. There’s nothing to be sorry for, you did nothing wrong.” He takes his time to gather his breathing, before, “Except for one thing.”

Wonwoo could barely let out a sound of surprise as he feels hard wood pressing against his left ankle, movement swift and powerful enough to sweep his foot off the ground. It’s a blur of motions as the room spins before he hits the mattress below, eyes jammed shut at the abrupt movement.

There’s pressure on his wrists, Seungcheol pinning them down without the intention of letting go. His stomach is held down by Seungcheol’s knee, but it doesn’t hurt, something more feverish pooling under his skin. It comes to an abrupt end when Wonwoo opens his eyes to be reminded of everything.

“You let your guard down, that’s a mistake.”

Just at how ridiculous the situation is, Wonwoo’s unable to stop the laughter spilling from his throat. “I did, I’m sorry.”

Seungcheol shifts then, lets go of Wonwoo’s arms as he moves his knee to get off.

Still knocked out of his bearings, Wonwoo doesn’t get off the floor, hands coming to shield his eyes from the lighting above, dizzy. “Tell me,” he says, “what poem?”

“It’s something to keep us grounded whenever we feel someone’s floating away,” Seungcheol says and Wonwoo can feel him sitting down besides him. “The woods are lovely, dark and and deep.”

He doesn’t continue, as though expecting Wonwoo to do it for him, to do it with him. And Wonwoo does, for he knows this poem, has read it in a book a few years back and it hasn’t left him since then. A part of him wonders if Seungcheol heard this in the drift.

“But I have promises to keep,” Wonwoo moves his hand to glance at Seungcheol, “And miles to go before I sleep.”

“And miles to go before I sleep,” Seungcheol finishes, and with the last line of the poem, the tension that’s been gripping him throughout their whole fight finally ebbs away.

A tug presents itself in Wonwoo’s chest, moving him to sit up. There’s no time like now, he realises, he’s been putting this off for too long and Seungcheol, without question or rashness, has always been there, waiting for Wonwoo to come to him on his own.

“Seungcheol, I…I have a lot to tell you,” he says, a heaviness returning to his throat.

Seungcheol faces Wonwoo, not in a way that has Wonwoo tense, it never is with him. All the hesitation and secrets before this were from Wonwoo alone, but Wonwoo doesn’t want to repeat his mistakes, now. Seungcheol’s eyes are kind, filled with something Wonwoo can’t put a name on.

“I’m sorry, for everything. I shouldn’t have left just like that,” Wonwoo says and swallows. “I shouldn’t have gone to the academy and met you in the first place.”

“Don’t say that.” Seungcheol moves his hand to cover Wonwoo’s. “You thought you were right back then, doesn’t mean you’re wrong now. We all say and do things we don’t mean to at least once in our lives, some worse than others, but we can always grow from it.”

Wonwoo stills, feels a heat under his eyes. “I’m truly sorry. I wanted you to be angry with me back then, for some reason. I think I still do. It’s hard knowing you’ve done something terrible to someone that isn’t even disappointed with you for it. And you can’t tell me you aren’t. I almost ruined your chances to be here right now. ”

“Don’t worry, I talked everything out with Seungkwan—he was insistent and convincing. I wasn’t disappointed because I never expected you to be perfect. But I was hurt.” Seungcheol smiles at Wonwoo, dimples showing, and Wonwoo thinks a smile doesn’t fit the situation. “Both for you and for me. Despite everything, you’re still someone I care deeply about.”

Though it has been months since, both of them has drifted multiple times, and Seungcheol knows more than what Wonwoo told him in person. And in their last drift, albeit it being terrible and his breaking point, Seungcheol must’ve seen what’s been chaining Wonwoo back.

“And I don’t know, after being out there in a real fight I realised even I might not be cut out for the job. You leaving so abruptly was my earliest wake up call, that even the best people I know are fallible and being a Jaeger Pilot takes so much out of a person. Sometimes I wish I could share the conn-pod with you, but most of the time I sleep better knowing you’re not out there with me.”

“Seungcheol,” Wonwoo lets his words die out, heavy on his tongue. Wonwoo saw glimpses of this at the academy, bits and pieces but never so vulnerable like this, despite the drift. It’s never been the drift. It will never be.

Seungcheol looks small like this, tired from their spar, tired from the battle yesterday. And yet, even with his hair sticking to his forehead due to sweat, the warmth in his eyes never changed. It’s a place Wonwoo doesn’t realise he’s made a home in.

Sitting like this, the quietness of the early morning around them, Wonwoo notices things the drift doesn’t allow him to fully view in detail. The slope of Seungcheol’s nose, the flutter of his eyelashes every time he blinks. The curve of his lips when he smiles, soft. The roughness of Seungcheol’s palm over his, and the warmth of his fingers, slotting in between Wonwoo’s. Wonwoo wants nothing but to prolong this moment, him basking in Seungcheol, and not as someone who’s doing so to cower from something else, but fully, as a measly planet would do with its star.

“You wanted us to meet in a better place,” Wonwoo says, gaze on their hands. “I took it as a promise and now, I think I’m ready to fulfil it.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Seungcheol lifts their joined hands, keeps it between as he meets Wonwoo’s eyes. “We’re a team, Wonwoo, you should know that. I’m here too, and I’m ready for _us_ to fulfil our promise.”

Seungcheol pulling him forward into an embrace is as sudden as it is welcomed. Allowing himself to breathe in, Wonwoo hooks his arms round Seungcheol’s torso, head buried in his chest. And he doesn’t want to be anywhere but.

“I hope you realise I’m here for you too, always.” Wonwoo smiles, despite Seungcheol not being able to see. “You’re a Jaeger Pilot now, I don’t want to push you away knowing what can happen out there.”

“I know,” Seungcheol whispers to the crown of Wonwoo’s head, chin staying there. “I know, so I promise I’ll do my best out there. For the sake of everyone.”

  
  


☵

  
  


**November 17th 2021.**

It’s late in the evening and Wonwoo’s just climbed down from LOCCENT, a ghost latching on his back and making each step heavier than they should be. No matter how many times he rolled his shoulders, did stretches on his chair, the soreness never seem to leave. He fears it’s a bad omen, something stirring in the waters.

He makes his way to Eon’s bay, up a few levels until he reaches the catwalk to find Hansol in their usual spot. But he’s not alone, and pleasant surprise floods Wonwoo as he spots another figure hunched besides Hansol, back familiar as they rumble in laughter.

“Hyung,” Hansol calls when Wonwoo approaches, voice cheery, “you’re here. We were just talking about your academy days.”

At the confession, Wonwoo frowns at Seungcheol. “All good things, I hope.”

“Of course,” Seungcheol says but Wonwoo’s not convinced. “Can’t talk bad about you to your brother when he’s giving me advice on all this Jaeger fighting”

Sitting down next to Hansol, upper body slumping over the railing, Wonwoo drawls, “Right.”

“He was just telling me about how he needed to barge into your bunk sometimes because your bunkmate often gave up on waking you up.” Bits of laughter weave through the end of his sentence.

“Really? In exchange for tips on how to fend off a giant monster for the fate of the world? I didn’t know my embarrassment was worth that much.” Wonwoo huffs at the jab Hansol gives him.

“You’re worth more than that, even your embarrassment.” Nothing on Seungcheol’s countenance suggests he’s joking,

There’s heat under Wonwoo’s skin, Hansol’s feigning obliviousness, and somehow it’s worse than if Hansol would quip something witty. The twitch on Hansol’s lips betrays the impassiveness on his face.

“Can you not say things like that?”

Seungcheol doesn’t answer, but the dips in his cheeks tells Wonwoo enough of how satisfied he is, and despite the sincerity of his words, the single thing Wonwoo can derive is: _make me_.

He doesn’t try though, for he knows it’s futile. Instead, Wonwoo turns to Hansol, jabs flicks him at his ribs when he fails to keep the knowing smile from his face. “What else did you talk about?”

“Just a few things,” Hansol shrugs, “but I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were at the top of the rankings for mock-pod simulators.”

“I didn’t think it was relevant.” With Eon’s shadow looming over them, Wonwoo feels small, but he isn’t shameful of it. “Besides, it doesn’t matter when I was also the top of the rankings for flunking so hard.”

Both Seungcheol and Hansol are looking at him, expression carefully blank as though scrutinising Wonwoo’s face for a sign. A moment of silence passes before Seungcheol shakes his head.

“That’s an exaggeration. You can say that when you dropped after your first round in the Kwoon.”

“Yeah, I was genuinely surprised you went through a whole trimester of combat training without thinking of quitting even once.” Hansol stops then, blinks twice. “Actually, there’s no way you didn’t think of quitting. A hundred times, minimum.”

“Glad to know that even you underestimate my will.”

Another pause before Seungcheol guffaws, hands on his stomach as he laid back to meet the floor. “He’s your brother all right, I remember the look on your face every time you dragged yourself to the showers.”

“Oh, did he glare at everyone who tried to bother him?”

The incentive to argue back against them dies out as Hansol converses with Seungcheol, delving into every little detail Wonwoo swears he doesn’t remember happening. Even at the cost of his, albeit fond, ridicule, their smiles are something Wonwoo cherishes, something he lets his mind trace the outlines off and keep as a vignette.

“I almost forgot, I promised Seungkwan I would pick a movie for him to watch tonight,” Hansol says, dusting his pants as he stands. “I’ll see you both later.”

They part, Hansol bounding down from the catwalk, steps hurried.

“It isn’t that obvious at first glance but they do resemble each other,” Seungcheol says, scooting closer to Wonwoo. “Him and Seungkwan.”

Wonwoo hums, leans his head on Seungcheol’s shoulder as he glances up at Eon. Seungcheol’s hand finds his. “She looks unbeatable.”

A squeeze. “It’d be good if she was.”

  
  


☵

  
  


**November 18th 2021.**

Wonwoo jumps at the blare of the Kaiju alarm. His legs are still heavy with sleep as he trips over his sheets, hands in a frantic frenzy to find his glasses. The clock reads 4 AM and Wonwoo doesn’t find it in him to complain.

_“Nozuchi. Category-IV. Predicted landfall: Busan.”_

The announcement drones on with every flare of red, echoes in Wonwoo’s head until he’s trodden with nausea, barely on his two feet when he sprints out of his room. 

Busan. First category-IV.

In a morbid imitation of the lifeless voice, those four words scorches their way in Wonwoo’s mind. Each syllable has his heart in his throat, breath hitching when he meets Hansol below the LOCCENT, countenance reflecting Wonwoo’s.

“Hansol, it’s Busan—“

“It’s going to be okay,” Hansol reassures him but he doesn’t seem convinced himself. “It’s going to be okay.”

No more words are exchanged, there’s no time. Wonwoo’s back on the seat he left a few hours ago. Back rigid for an entirely different reason than before, and he fears his premonitions will come true.

When Marshal Yoon asks him to initiate the neural handshake, he almost doesn’t want to, hands trembling over the switches.

Wonwoo later finds out Nozuchi lives up to its name in the worst way possible, long, slender body dappled with repugnant Kaiju blue, its two set of eyes disturbingly intelligent as it stares down all three of their Jaegers, unstirred by the number advantage. Three, large dorsal fins tower on its back, the ridges resembling those of ancient aquatic creatures more than terrestrial animals. It doesn’t roar, but hisses, akin to a snake, as it slips under the dark waves.

The monitors notify all of them of where it is, but it’s hard to fight without visual confirmation. And Nozuchi’s first blow constitutes its next moves. Swift and deceitful. Deadly and precise.

It yanks Obsidian’s feet from under Seokmin and Minghao, slithering around the metallic limbs as a snake would.

“Obsidian!” Soonyoung screams before taking off in haste. “ _Fuck_.”

Minghao comes in the comm, next, his calmness disconcerting. “It’s trying to crush us.”

And it does, finally rearing its body out of the dark waters to try and wrap itself around Obsidian.

Nova manages a grip on Nozuchi’s body, gears whirring to keep it in place, stopping its attempt to pummel Obsidian while she’s debilitated. Both Soonyoung and Chan’s effort stops the Kaiju, but does nothing else as Nozuchi displays a staggering amount of resistance.

“Eon, we need your help,” Chan calls.

There’s no answer.

The first of Wonwoo’s dread comes from the shrill warning from his monitor, blotches of bold red sidling beside the right hemisphere of Eon Parallax. Seungcheol’s graph dips.

“Seungcheol,” Wonwoo all but screams at his mic, “you’re falling out of alignment.”

“Ranger Choi, do you copy?” Even Jeonghan lacks his usual composure.

The second of Wonwoo’s dread comes from Seungkwan’s feeble voice through the comms.

“He doesn’t, sir,” Seungkwan says and Wonwoo tries his best to not imagine Seungkwan’s face in his head. “It’s Busan…August 2020. He can’t seem to get out.”

At the revelation, Wonwoo feels as though he’s been knocked out of his own body. He’s numb, the crescents he leaves on his palms doesn’t register on his brain, and Wonwoo can hear nothing but the pounding of his heart. It’s drumming at his neck, on his ears. And Hansol—Hansol’s looking at him.

It’s Seungkwan, louder than he was before, that pulls Wonwoo out of his reverie, heated eyes going back to the video feed. His mouth feels parched. Sandpaper meets flesh.

“The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,” Seungkwan says. Seungcheol must not be able to hear him at all if he’s speaking out loud. “But I’ve got promises to keep.”

Wonwoo finds himself saying the words with him, hoping, wishing that he next part would come. But it doesn’t, the comms staying silent after.

“Sir, I suggest we take Eon out, stat,” Hansol says, “let the Jumphawks take her away.”

Jeonghan doesn’t object, “Jumphawks, get Eon out of there now. Hook her as fast as you can.”

As though sensing a weaker target, Nozuchi shrieks, whips its tail to blow Nova’s hand away. It slides away from the two Jaegers as easy as it slid to take Obsidian out. 

“Eon, watch out!” One of the pilots scream, but Wonwoo’s too preoccupied with the buzz in his head to recognise who.

Seeing the Kaiju approaching Eon through the radar, Wonwoo grabs the mic, fists white around the device.

“Seungcheol, you’ve got promises to keep,” he says in Korean, the eyes on him burn but he continues, “and miles to go before you sleep.”

Seungkwan murmurs something, inaudible to Wonwoo, but the lines are ascending, Seungcheol reaching an acceptable calibration rate. There’s static before Seungcheol gets back into line.

“I’m here.” Seungcheol’s response feels like its directed to only Wonwoo, the Korean seems to indicate so.

Relieve washes over Wonwoo, but it doesn’t long. Nothing ever does. Nozuchi stands before Eon Parallax, shriek piercing through the comms.

Nova is already on her way, Obsidian following suit after she gets back to her feet. But the miles are long, and Nozuchi strikes the still incapacitated Eon before they’re in proximity.

Its claws sink, deep, as does the screams of both of Seungcheol and Seungkwan. Nozuchi’s tail whip up to strike Eon’s conn-pod. A grunt, before silence.

Voices and movements blur around him, Wonwoo falling under the ringing in his ears and the pooling tears at the corner of his eyes. He’s helpless, could do nothing but watch as Nova finally punches Nozuchi off of Eon, claws leaving a trail through Eon’s midnight blue.

Eon Parallax staggers back, still on her feet despite the damage she sustained. Wonwoo’s heart wrenches at the sight.

“Eon, status report.”

“Seungcheol’s injured, sir, but we’re functioning.”

“We can still fight,” Seungcheol says and Wonwoo hears his pain as a curse tumbles out of his mouth.

From his safe seat in the LOCCENT, Wonwoo couldn’t see the extent of Seungcheol’s injury but as he sees Eon coming to aid Nova and Obsidian, he hopes it isn’t severe.

The three Jaegers work in tandem, Obsidian’s Brass Knuckles delivering blow after blow as Nova holds Nozuchi in place, severing its hind legs in the proses, plasma sword a beacon of light in the darkness. Eon remains a considerable distance away, none of the pilots risking close quarter combats at such a disadvantage. One final cut from Soonyoung and Chan, and Nozuchi attempts to careen away. It doesn’t escape Obsidian’s grip, however.

It’s a miracle Eon’s plasmacaster is functional despite the mangled state of her right arm, and Wonwoo grimaces as he witnesses the effort Seungcheol puts in to aim and blast the Kaiju into oblivion.

Nozuchi plunges the ocean its made home in when the sun rises, guts blown and several limbs missing. When the light of dawn undulates in waves over the three Jaegers, orange glinting on their sleek metal encasing, Wonwoo allows himself to leave his post with the heat now trailing down his cheeks. It’s relief instead of fright, but he wipes them before anyone sees.

“Seungcheol hang in there,” Seungkwan cries. “Don’t pass out on me.”

“Jumphawks, get Eon’s pilots out of their conn-pod,” Jeonghan barks the order, worry bleeding through his command.

Wonwoo shakes his head, lets the gravity of the situation numb his senses as he leaves everyone behind him to head towards the Jaeger bays, waiting, and waiting. The Jumphawks zoom into view after what felt like hours of Wonwoo bracing the shivers.

There’s a tug on his arms and a jacket draping over his shoulders. “Hyung, you’re freezing.” Hansol stands next to him then, hands looping around Wonwoo’s own.

Blasting the cold winds with the force of its blades, a Jumphawk lands on one of the helipads. Hansol pulls him forward, and when Wonwoo chances a glance at the Hansol, he’s as rattled as he is and so he pulls him closer. Distance between them imperceptible.

A myriad of possibilities flit to Wonwoo’s mind, dragging his heart lower and lower with every implication. It’s to his relief, as much as he could muster in this situation, that Seungcheol’s conscious when he steps out, hands around Seungkwan’s shoulders.

Wonwoo tries to ignore the battered Drivesuit and steps forward, nothing leaving his lips. His arms welcomes Seungcheol’s collapsing figure and Wonwoo almost sways with the weight, but he doesn’t care, Seungcheol’s warmth defeating

“Miles to go before I sleep, Wonwoo.”

Seungcheol closes his eyes, goes limp as the world around Wonwoo falls into deafening silence once more.

  
  


☵

  
  


**November 20th 2021.**

Dr. Park smiles at him when he enters the Medbay, smell of disinfectant and lights as bright as ever, smile never diminishing despite how frequently he visited these past two days.

“You’re here awfully early,” she says, hands flicking through a stack of papers. 

“Sorry, Sooyoung. I couldn’t sleep.”

“He’s on painkillers so he might be out for a while, being here is not going to be as engaging as your early morning spars.”

“That’s fine.” Wonwoo shakes his head, lifting a nearby chair to Seungcheol’s bed, careful not to cause any unnecessary sound. “I just don’t want him to be alone. How is he?”

Sooyoung raises an eyebrow at Wonwoo’s statement, but says nothing to fetch the brown file at the top of her meticulous stack, opening it with a small hum. “All external injuries are healing nicely. His shoulder is going to take a while, though.”

A suffocating pressure slithers its way into his chest to make home there. Wonwoo slides his hand under Seungcheol’s, fingers brushing his palm, minding to not disturb the sling Seungcheol’s right arm is in. “A while?”

Her chair skidding back softly, Sooyoung strides to where Wonwoo is. She plants a hand on his shoulder, squeezing. “With regular massages and physiotherapy, he’ll recover fully in three weeks to a month, tops. Don’t worry too much, or are you doubting my capabilities?”

“No,” Wonwoo says, frantic, “it’s never that. I just…feel guilty.”

Sighing, Sooyoung tilts her head. “I’d really love to say something about that but frankly, it’s not my place to.” She waves then, heading for the doors. ”I’m also tired so I’m getting some coffee.”

Wonwoo nods, returning her wave of goodbye before turning back to Seungcheol. He brushes a stray hair away from Seungcheol’s eyes and stops. It’s not often Seungcheol gets undisturbed sleep, Wonwoo surmises, sleep where he doesn’t have to worry about waking up and suiting up at any moment’s notice.

“If only we didn’t drift back then,” Wonwoo says to no one, hands staying on Seungcheol’s cheek before returning to hold his hand. “But you would say I’m bleeding for something that’s been cast in stone, wouldn’t you? And that you wouldn’t change a single thing.”

Bemused laughter finds its way past his lips, Wonwoo covering his eyes in an attempt to keep the heat growing underneath them at bay. There’s not much he can do except watch the steady rise and fall of Seungcheol’s chest, the slight flutter of his eyelashes when he stirs occasionally, or feel Seungcheol’s pulse, languid yet steady, beneath his wrist.

The faint rhythmic beat underneath Wonwoo’s palms sway his lids to fall shut. His head finds solace right beside Seungcheol’s arms, the smell of the clean, white sheets unfamiliar. He breaths in, though, the sound of Seungcheol’s breathing enough to drift him off to sleep.

When he floats up to consciousness later, there’s a hand buried in his hair and Wonwoo jerks, looks up to find Seungcheol’s concerned gaze meeting his. It’s rather funny—Wonwoo should be the one with such expression and yet the thought flitters away as a smile breaks out on Seungcheol’s face.

“Good morning,” Seungcheol greets, hands going back to rest beside him. 

“You’re awake.” Still ladened with sleep, Wonwoo’s unable to think of anything else to say.

“Yes, and I’m starving.” Seungcheol glances to Dr. Park sitting on her desk, eye bags darker than Wonwoo remember them to be last night. “Can I get breakfast at the cafeteria?”

“Of course, just don’t use your arm too much.”

“Don’t think these bandages would allow me to, anyway.’ Seungcheol laughs, throwing the sheets with his left arm. “Come join me, Wonwoo. Your must back must be killing you.”

It does, with great intensity. Wonwoo stretches to feel his back muscles pull and protest at the less than ideal position he’s subjected himself to for a couple hours. “Are you sure you’re good to walk around?”

“Don’t worry about that.” It’s Dr. Park that answers, eyes never straying from the paper she’s writing on. “Seungcheol is probably the toughest person I’ve seen come out of a Jaeger accident.”

With an agreement to Dr. Park’s quip, Seungcheol shifts himself out of bed. He’s not wearing a patient garb but the slipper he slides his feet into surely will garner a few glances. 

Not entirely convinced of Seungcheol’s ability to walk straight just yet, Wonwoo hovers near Seungcheol all the way to the cafeteria, hands on the small of his back more to assure himself than to balance Seungcheol. He doesn’t need it, and Dr. Park wasn’t lying.

When the crowd in the hall they’re passing in thins out, Seungcheol takes it as a chance to pull Wonwoo beside him, left hand never letting go of Wonwoo’s hand afterwards. Muted electricity jumps between them, warm, comforting, and not as painful as Wonwoo remembers it pulsing through him when Seungcheol stepped out of the Jumphawk,

“Something tells me I might know what you think about all of this.” Seungcheol doesn’t face him, eyes remaining in front of him.

There’s a tug on the corner of his lips. “You don’t,” Wonwoo says without wavering, brushing the back of Seungcheol’s hand.

Raising an eyebrow, Seungcheol sends him a look. “I don’t?”

“Even if your guess is right, which it probably is, I’ve left that thought behind.”

Seungcheol’s steps falter, allowing Wonwoo a view of his countenance. It’s not so much surprise as it is delayed elation, for Seungcheol’s lips melt into a smile as he tugs Wonwoo’s hand upwards, brushes his lips against his knuckles before continuing on his way. If not for the warmth encroaching every inch of his chest, Wonwoo would realise the added skips on Seungcheol’s steps.

The cafeteria isn’t crowded in the morning, most forgoing breakfast for a couple spare minutes of sleep. As they walk through the vast atrium, the few personnels fetching breakfast send nods and smiles their way. Mostly for Seungcheol. Wonwoo’s chess inflates with an airy joy, knowing Seungcheol doesn’t deserve less. It does give him a leverage over him for teasing, too.

“Seungcheol-hyung.” A voice calls from somewhere on their left, and there sits Seungkwan and Hansol, hands waving them over. The state of Seungcheol’s injury lessens the brashness of Seungkwan’s embrace. It doesn’t, however, lessen the glee he has. “I’m happy you can join us for breakfast.”

Wonwoo leaves to fetch two trays of breakfast—traditional Japanese for today—when Seungcheol sits. Seungcheol beams a thank you, hands rubbing circles on Wonwoo’s back.

“How long before you can go back to pilot with me?”

Seungcheol hums, delivering what Dr. Park said to Wonwoo a few hours ago. Seungkwan’s forehead creases in a frown.

“Seungkwan’s been less than enthusiastic, said he needs someone to spar with him in the Kwoon,” Hansol provides, chopsticks playing with the leftover carrot on his tray.

“I’m sorry, Seungkwan. I promise I’ll make it up to you when I’m back in shape though.”

“No, no, it’s completely fine. I’m just sad.” Seungkwan waves his hands, frown disappearing to make way for a rather mischievous grin on his face. “Besides, I’ve recruited someone to fill in your place for a while. Not that anyone can replace you, don’t get me wrong.”

At the hum of inquiry from Wonwoo, Seungkwan loops his arm around Hansol’s upper arm, yanking the other closer. His grin turns gentler then.

“This person right here, of course.”

Hansol’s facing away from Seungkwan, yet Wonwoo notices the minuscule lift of his mouth, and the soft downward curve of his eyes. It has been a while since Hansol step foot in the Kwoon. Reasons and fears, lingering feelings—but if Hansol’s fine with it, than Wonwoo is too.

Seungkwan flicks Hansol’s cheek due to the lack of response, the action eliciting a laugh out of Hansol instead of whatever Seungkwan expected. Shoving Seungkwan away, gentle, Hansol has one of those looks where he’s been accused of something he didn’t do, or he did do but won’t admit in the face of his own adversity. Wonwoo’s seen it numerous times, remembers it most when Hansol wouldn’t admit he stole Wonwoo’s pudding from the fridge, years ago.

“Wonwoo”. Seungcheol nudges him, already halfway through his breakfast despite the handicap when Wonwoo hasn’t touched his. “Are you all right?”

No, he probably isn’t. The previous warmth has climbed its way to his eyes, and rooted itself everywhere else, unfurling and leaving nowhere untouched. His heart aches, but not in the way that’d make him want to wrench it out, or douse it under the cold waters of the ocean—no, Wonwoo welcomes it with a sense of pensive belonging.

“I’m fine,” Wonwoo pauses as he contemplates on correcting his answer. “I’m happy.”

  
  


☵

  
  


**November 25th 2021.**

“What made you think taking me on a hike is a good idea?”

Wonwoo ignores him in favour of climbing the last set of stairs to the observation deck.

There’s a hand clamping down on his shoulder, Seungcheol’s head coming to rest on top of it after a sigh, sounding worn. “We could have taken the car up here.”

“I know that,” Wonwoo refutes, leaning his head to brush Seungcheol’s. “But there’s nothing like a little walk to keep in shape. The view is enough of a reward.”

After a moment of muted grumbles, Seungcheol lifts his head to finally see what awaits them and he goes mum. He grips the railing with one hand, his right one still limited by a sling.

The cold wind whistles past him as Wonwoo leans against the railing of the deck to join Seungcheol, taking a while to take in the view of Nagasaki Port that Nabekanmuri park offers. In the far distance, less imposing due to it being so small, the top of the shatterdome peaks.

Wonwoo’s been here before, once, back when the greys and muted colours of the shatterdome had been too much. On a leave partly permitted due to them not being accustomed to their positions just yet, Hansol took him to this mountain a few miles inland, the buzz of cicadas and glints of fireflies filling that warm summer night. It’s less crowded this time of year, no one present in the observation deck with the sunset coming in a few hours.

“It’s beautiful, but are you sure it’s okay to be here?”

Wonwoo snorts at the inquiry, for he has thought of it before. “You’re still off-duty, and it’s only been a week since Nozuchi. I think we can relax for a bit. Especially since this was recommended by your doctor.”

There’s struggle on Seungcheol’s face, brows meeting and lips jutting out. But when the wind picks up again, cold and rushing through both of them, Seungcheol returns his gaze to the sea. He huddles closer, grabs Wonwoo’s hand to hide them in his pocket.

“That big dock over there is a cruise ship terminal,” Wonwoo points at aforementioned area, “I’ve seen photos of cruise ships docked there, it’s a shame cruising has really gone down since people are afraid of what might be lurking under the waves.”

Seungcheol hums, part in agreement and part in grief. “I would love to try cruising, but I do understand the fear the Kaijus bring. A lot better now.”

The breath Seungcheol lets out quivers, the closing of his eyes seems weighted, deliberate. Wonwoo does nothing but slip his fingers in between Seungcheol’s, waiting. It’s as though the world quiets down around them, and Wonwoo watches, etches all the details, as Seungcheol turns to look at him, eyes glimmering with something he doesn’t recognise.

“You know, I thought of you back in Busan,” Seungcheol starts and Wonwoo lets his lips fall into a thin line. “And being in the drift, it pulled your memory from the last time we drifted. I felt your fear when I watched Obsidian get submerged.”

“I’m sorry, I speculated it to be that, but I never would have thought…that you would go out of alignment.”

“No, I started to be afraid, and I guess it hit me harder than I thought it would.” Seungcheol inclines his head when Wonwoo takes a breath. There’s a brush of his thumb, motion repeating. “I only managed to stop chasing the memory when I tried to find my way back to you. Hearing both you and Seungkwan anchored me back. And at that moment I just wanted to be with you, knowing just how harrowing it feels to witness.”

Wonwoo’s throat closes up and it’s difficult to stop the tremble in his lips, voice small as he says, “I felt it again, watching you.”

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” Wonwoo shakes his head, “It’s out of your control. I was terrified when I watched the video feed, too. So I stopped to think, then, about everything, about us.”

Seungcheol untangles his fingers from Wonwoo’s to circle it around Wonwoo’s waist, tugging closer, hips touching. Keeping his hand there, Seungcheol nods, urging Wonwoo forward. There’s something else in his eyes, and Wonwoo recognises it as apprehension.

“I wondered if this is all worth it, this thing between us.” Wonwoo averts his eyes to meet the sea below instead of Seungcheol’s burning gaze. “If it’s worth the pain of knowing you’re putting your life on the line for the sake of the world, if it’s worth the pain of knowing I could do nothing to help you if something were to happen. And if loving you with the risk of losing you is worth more than not loving you at all.”

A hitching of Seungcheol’s breath, a pressure on Wonwoo’s back from Seungcheol’s palm. Wonwoo doesn’t know if they’re due to the questions or confession—perhaps it’s both.

“Why—“ Seungcheol stops to huff “—why am I scared of hearing your answer?” It takes a bit for him to gather himself, shaking his head when he’s ready. “But, please tell me, did you answer those questions?”

“I did, and it didn’t take me that long to answer them at all.” Wonwoo smiles, arm coming to weave around Seungcheol’s, while the other slides on Seungcheol’s back. “And my answer is yes, you’re worth it, a thousand times over. Seungcheol, this thing between us is something I never want to undo. I don’t know where I would be without you, and I’ve learned that these doubts I have about us is a waste of time. The future is full of uncertainties and I’ve done enough in the past to push you away. I’d rather spend these days—waste these days waiting for that uncertainty being certain about you. About us.”

Seungcheol stays silent as he moves his hand, this time to cup Wonwoo’s cheek, brushing the stray tear Wonwoo doesn’t realise he’s shed. Then, he laughs, the sound breaking off into sorrow. “Did you take me here to break my heart?”

There’s a twinge below his sternum, “Seungcheol— ” 

“No, Wonwoo, in a good way.” Seungcheol interrupts him. “I’ve asked myself similar questions. I never want to hurt you and yet I’m selfish enough to keep wanting to be with you, despite everything.”

“If both of us are selfish, then none of us are.” Wonwoo shakes his head. “I’m even more so for wanting you to not get in a Jaeger anymore, but I know that’s impossible.”

“You don’t have to worry about that. It’s almost instinctual to think of everyone when I enter Eon, to think of you. And I will never let go of that thought.” Another smile, eyes unbearably honest as Seungcheol brushes his thumb aross the plane of Wonwoo’s cheek. “Because I have promises to keep for the both of us, and I have miles to go before I come home to you, Wonwoo.”

“But you’re here now, you’re home,” Wonwoo supplies, burying his hand under Seungcheol’s hair to pull him forward. Their foreheads touch and Wonwoo can feel every breath the other takes, the other exhales. And just like this, Wonwoo never wants to let go, wants to protect them together, even if everything strives to drag them under. 

“No, we are home.”

Wonwoo smiles as Seungcheol presses his lips against his. Unlike before, Wonwoo meets Seungcheol in the middle, knowing where he needs to be, knowing that he’s somewhere he wants to be. And he stays basking in them, instead of just Seungcheol.

There’s elation in his heart, and Wonwoo lets it carry him as he captures Seungcheol’s lips again, languid, intending to let this moment play out as long as it could. The delighted chuckle Seungcheol lets out rumble against his skin.

It’s only another gust of wind that parts them, but they never stray far. Oranges and purples streak through the sky, sun dipping under the horizon now and with the absence of light, Nagasaki Port comes to life. Like the fireflies Wonwoo’s seen in the summer, the buildings illuminate one by one, sweeping the darkness away in a wave.

Humanity is resilient in a way solely humans are able to be: even in the darkest hours where the world descends into madness, we create our own light. Fighting to reach the end of the tunnel.

☵

  
  


**December 19th 2021.**

In a feat achievable after minutes of wearing Seungcheol down, Seungkwan swings his staff for one last blow, causing Seungcheol to lose balance and fall into the mattress with a thud, defeated.

There’s a moment of assessment, tension hanging heavy in the air. Seungkwan breaks it away when he cheers. His eyes in crescents, sweat dribbling down his face, Seungkwan takes his time revelling in his victory before he leans down, hands offering help.

“That’s my second win today,” he says, helping Seungcheol up.

Seungcheol pats Seungkwan on his back, laughing. “I don’t know if I’m still out of it or if you somehow got better when you’re not training with me.” He steps out of the mattress and heads towards Wonwoo and Hansol.

Wonwoo offers him a water bottle, but gives him the towel instead when Seungcheol shakes his head. At the thank you Seungcheol mouths, Wonwoo smiles.

A whine from Seungkwan has Seungcheol glancing back. “You’re just mocking me, hyung. Of course I got better. Having an outside perspective can be helpful.” He winks at Hansol, who shakes his head.

“That’s true, but this is all Seungkwan, not me.”

“Oh, don’t go all humble on me now,” Seungkwan points the end of his staff towards Hansol, a challenge in his smile. “I bet if you spar with me right now you would still be able to beat me.”

“Why would you want to go in a spar you know you’ll lose?” Seungcheol hangs the towel around his neck, hand on his hip.

The fall of Seungkwan’s face is almost comical, but the frown that follows isn’t. “It’s not that, I just—“

“Stop teasing him, hyung.” Hansol fiddles with his shoes, taking them off before moving to stand. “I’ll do it, just to prove you’re already better than me.”

Hansol’s response elicits a smile from Seungkwan’s face, before Seungkwan blows a raspberry at Seungcheol, now on the winning side of the argument.

“You two get along so well,” Wonwoo says when Seungcheol settles down beside him.

“Yes, we do.” Seungcheol doesn’t take his eyes off of the two figures now on the mat, going into their stances opposite of each other, but he affords a huff at Wonwoo’s teasing. “But this is good. Our thoughts contrast at times, but it gives us an advantage when deciding what to do.”

Humming in astonishment, Wonwoo bumps his shoulder against Seungcheol. “That’s great. It was fun watching you two spar for almost half an hour.”

“You seem to have a lot of free time lately,” Seungcheol says, and of course he would notice. Wonwoo’s been hovering around Seungcheol more ever since Nozuchi.

Wonwoo bunches his shoulder up. “I asked Mingyu from programming to cover some 

Laughter tumbles out of Seungcheol’s mouth, dimples on display. “You know, I’ve always wondered why you address Mingyu that way, it’s funny.”

“It’s a joke. We were from the same university and everyone, and I mean everyone, knows him.” The memory from days long past warms him. Wonwoo lets out a huff of laughter as well, the nickname that snug on Mingyu indeed funny. “He always introduced himself with ‘I’m Kim Mingyu from programming’, and it just stuck, I guess.”

“Makes sense,” Seungcheol nods, attention returning to Hansol and Seungkwan, still going at each other. It’s hard to determine who’s at an advantage, but a few of Seungkwan’s steps are a beat late, his previous spars must be catching up on him.

Wonwoo takes this chance to observe Seungcheol. His hair is slightly damp and there are a few patches of florid skin around his shoulders. “Do you feel okay?”

“Me?” Seungcheol faces Wonwoo, the lines of his face exhausted. “I’m all right. My right shoulder doesn’t hurt anymore, I should be able to get back into my usual routine in a few days. I hope.”

“Make sure you don’t push yourself too hard. The Kaijus should wait for you”

Seungcheol leans forward, breath fanning over Wonwoo’s face. “I won’t.” His lips meet the tip of Wonwoo’s nose for a second, before moving to the corner of his lips. Seungcheol backs away again, smile satisfied when he glances away.

There’s a loud thud as Seungkwan hits the red mattress, and it snatches both of their attention away.

Hansol’s face looks bewildered, the staff hovering over Seungkwan reluctant, as though the victory itself is unforeseen. He crouches besides Seungkwan’s unmoving form to utter a small apology. Hansol argues that this is due Seungkwan being exhausted already, but his words falls mute, the other party not listening.

Seungkwan covers his eyes with both his hands. For someone who’s said it himself that Hansol would win, he seems dejected. A small protest leaves his lips, “I don’t want to hear it.”

  
  


☵

  
  


**January 1st 2022.**

Wonwoo blinks the sleep away from his eyes, no matter how much effort it takes. He doesn’t want to miss this; the soft breathing of Seungcheol in his sleep, the steady rise and fall of his chest, flush against his.

Gentle, not wanting to wake the other up, Wonwoo plants a kiss on Seungcheol’s bare shoulder, trailing a couple others down his upper arm. He moves to prop his body up on his elbow, duvet sliding off of his abdomen to let the chilly air prick on his skin. But it doesn’t matter. The softness of Seungcheol’s hair under his palm enough to distract him from the sensation.

The momentary haven is shattered soon, the wailing of the alarm along with flashes of red enough to jolt Seungcheol awake.

_“Ragnarok. Category-IV. Predicted to hit the Nagasaki miracle line in T-minus 25 minutes.”_

His voice dry to the unexpected waking, Seungcheol grumbles out a, “What time is it?”

“It’s 2:54 a.m.,” Wonwoo answers, moving to sit up, thighs sliding against Seungcheol’s. He reaches for his glasses on the floor before reaching for his pants, a little farther away. “January 1st.”

“A Kaiju attack right on New Year’s? God, I’m going to make sure this Kaiju suffer for doing this on the very first day of the year.”

The sheets rustle as Seungcheol rises after him, gathering his clothes from where they’re scattered on the floor. Even with the complaint, Seungcheol wears them with haste, every second a priceless resource.

“Don’t be so petty,” Wonwoo chastises, throwing Seungcheol’s shirt his way. “Go out there and stop it before it ruins the new year for more people, if you’re so upset.”

“It ruined our chance to have another round this morning. Are you going to call me petty for that, too?”

Wonwoo stutters to a stop, shirt only halfway covering his stomach. The heat marring his cheeks is inevitable and Wonwoo curses at how easy it is for Seungcheol to induce this reaction out of him. Even when he’s said obscener things last night. His half-undressed state isn’t helping, either. “I can’t believe Seungkwan might be able to see all this.”

“Oh, he’s seeing _all_ of it for sure.” Seungcheol takes his time to finish wearing his shirt, letting his toned midriff stay visible for a little longer, teasing even in the dire situation.

Wonwoo doesn’t intend to give him the satisfaction, so he faces the other way, wearing his trousers in silence. The furtive glances he steal towards Seungcheol is enough for him to be satisfied, however.

It’s been proven that sexual embarrassment has caused the most failures in the drift than any other reason, wonwoo’s read the academy’s paper on it. And yet it doesn’t seem to be the case for Seungcheol. Wonwoo isn’t sure if he should be relieved or embarrassed.

“Just..go out to the Drivesuit Room, please,” Wonwoo says, voice small.

Seungcheol forgoes an answer for a hearty laugh instead, bounding towards the door to open it for both of them. His smile is beaming, far too bright 

Both, Wonwoo decides, he feels both.

The situation calls for them to part sooner than later, and with the perpetually blaring alarms, not going to stop until the Jaegers are deployed, both of them keeps their goodbyes short.

Right before he starts his sprint towards the LOCCENT, Wonwoo turns, plants a kiss on Seungcheol’s lips. “See you in the LOCCENT. Don’t die.”

“I won’t.” Seungcheol brushes their noses together, stealing another peck. He smiles, steady and warm even in the face of possible calamity. “I have promises to keep, after all.”

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Drag Me Under has turned to be bigger than I planned it to be (an extra 13k from the initial estimate of 10k!), and I did enjoy the process of rediscovering my love for the pacific rim universe through it. 
> 
> This was done in a haze of my love for Wonwoo, Seungcheol, and Pacific Rim (not the sequel). There _is_ a message I'm trying to convey and I hope it translates well enough (and done so in an innocuous way). If you made it this far, thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it ❤️
> 
> Also, huge thanks to the mods for hosting this second round and being so, so patient with my questions!!


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